


your silver lining smile

by nonsensicalbelle



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, and worse at communication, bucky is in denial, but it's cute, fake life au, he is bad at crushing, it's bucky being grumpy with clint and nat, musician au, the others are bandmates, then steve comes along, they're adorable really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 19:21:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8114467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonsensicalbelle/pseuds/nonsensicalbelle
Summary: famous musician au /or/ the one where bucky doesn't tell his new neighbour steve that he's a famous musician so he can feel normal, accidentally panics and says no to a date and spends the rest of his time trying to fix it and writing love songs for him on different continents.





	

**Author's Note:**

> so i wrote this in like 4 days bc i'm back at uni and i need a way to get out all of my nervous energy. help.  
> let me know what you think ((this is just a premise for a bigger au i have planned for after my tangled au))  
> all bucky's perspective here, i liked it that way, hope you do too  
> please comment, i'd love to hear from you, okay, enjoy! x

“You’ll have to make a decision eventually, James.”

“I could die before then,” He scowls and okay, he’s being grumpy. But really, he’s allowed a little juvenile behaviour, even Natalia is going easy on him.

He’s sat in her office and she’s looking at him with the expression that tells him she’s actively trying to be helpful and he should play nice. It’s just that after practically growing up in his apartment, it becoming his safe haven after his parents died and Becca moved away with her husband, starting up his band in the kitchen because weirdly it had the best acoustics, and now he has to leave all those memories behind. Or rather, he’s being forcibly removed after some fans found out where he lived and leaked it online.

Sure, a couple of fans knowing wouldn’t be that bad, but Natalia drew the line at the break in, so did Bucky in fact. Staring at the shattered glass on his living room floor and knowing that his apartment wasn’t _his_ anymore, it had been invaded and it wasn’t safe anymore, it made no sense to stay there. Safety was Nat’s first priority, even if she pretended it wasn’t. Bucky was the least prepared person for fame, everyone said it. He hated the ‘spotlight’. Or rather, the headlights, because he was definitely roadkill in this situation. Though, that’s probably a self-absorbed, ungrateful way of describing his success.

He was about music. That’s as far as it went for him, really. Clint heard him singing one day and started tapping out a beat for him and humming along and they joked around writing a few ‘songs’. But when Bucky picked up his old guitar from college and started tinkering with the piano at Nat’s place, Clint suggested starting a band. Even said he knew a few guitarists who’d be happy to join whenever, but the band would mainly be the two of them, just for little gigs here and there.

It took months of persuasion, writing songs, creating tracks, rehearsing and then talking Bucky out of dropping the whole thing before they actually played a gig. Clint had a minor meltdown before they went on for the first time which freaked Bucky out and meant it was a complete disaster – i.e. they were dragged off the stage, but by then, they were hooked. Their swap in guitarists were angry bassist Kate Bishop, eccentric electric guitarist Thor and their back up singers Jane, Darcy and Peter who stole the show as far as Bucky was concerned. Clint was a talent, too. He took out his hearing aid when they performed and just tuned into the beat, the vibrations through his feet and rhythm in his head, really, it was incredible to watch.

Bucky just sang and occasionally fiddled with instruments he was nowhere near talented enough to be considered proficient at. When it took off, they all just clung on for the ride, expecting the indie crowd attention to whittle and wane after a few months. However, when a couple of songs somehow tapped into the more mainstream and one of their singles got used for a movie soundtrack, they blew up. Nat just sort of naturally took charge and became their ‘manager’. They had played shows in over half the US states and were planning their European tour when things got sketchy.

Being the (reluctant) frontman of a successful band whilst being openly gay and having a prosthetic arm suddenly meant Bucky was an accessible idol. Jane and Darcy called him a ‘patchwork heartthrob’ and always smiled softly when they said it which he found slightly uncomfortable. Also, simply due to the fact that he wasn’t the type to do interviews and meets he was pinned up as a ‘mysterious recluse’ which really only served to piss him off a little as that made everyone more curious.

And now after the curiosity had ruined the one place he felt safe, he was moving. Nat was still waiting, expectantly, four apartment options laid onto the table and tenancy agreements for each just waiting to be signed. He didn’t want to look around them in person, there wasn’t time and he didn’t want to waste gas and energy on talking himself out of an apartment that looked and felt all wrong.

“Just choose one. They’re all only a year lease so if you really hate it you can live at Clint’s until you can move again,” She volunteers Clint easily despite the frankly terrifying state of his apartment, lovingly coined the ‘assault course’ and an assortment of other charming nicknames.

“I’d rather camp than live at his wildlife exhibition, _thanks_.” He sighs once and frowns darkly at the pages with pictures that all looked dull and not home.

“This one.” He points at the second one because it has a blue front door.

“Why that one?”

“It has a blue front door.”

Natalia fixes him with a long hard look.

“Fine.” She relents at last and he scratches his signature along the dotted lines that litter each page, not bothering to read it because he’s not great at contracts and Natalia would probably offended if he even tried.

“Your things will be there Wednesday but you can move in whenever you like.” She tells him curtly and he just nods wordlessly as she scatters her fingers rapidly on the keyboard of her laptop, doing what Bucky assumes is follow up paperwork. The amount of control Nat has over his life, she could easily topple his entire world. However, he caught her crying once at a Meg Ryan movie so they are absolutely even.

“We are free, you know.” And she’s speaking for her and Clint but she’s not looked away from the screen, even snatches up his signed paperwork for some details as she works.

“I’m fine.” He insists wearily as his phone beeps.

“Email. Address, tenancy agreement, nearest shops & hospital, background check on all your neighbours.” She informs him tersely and he scrolls through it briefly, not feeling up to reading it just yet.

“And here I thought you were going overboard.” He grumbles but there’s no heat in it. He’s tired.

“He says to the woman with his bank details,” She mutters happily and he snorts.

“Jokes on you, I’m fucking broke.”

“How in God’s name are you broke, Mr Superstar?” She scoffs, looking over with something knowing in her eyes which grates at him a little because he already lost his home today, does he need to have all his business aired. So what if all his money pays off Becca’s student loans – not everyone needs to know that.

“Clint’s gambling addiction has reached new heights.”

“Actually, I have a bone to pick with you.” Natalia shifts her weight so she’s sitting cross-legged on the chair facing him and they both know it’s a deliberate topic change but it doesn’t take the quiet menace from her voice.

“I don’t have life insurance,” He says instinctively and her eyes narrow but her lips twist the slightest bit.

“Why is Clint under the impression that we have joint guardianship over the _dog_ he found on the street?” She asks dangerously, punctuating the word dog with a grimace and she’s not too far off base. The dog is as much of a disaster as Clint.

“You love taking care of animals.” He says deadpan, eyes sparkling with humour that he’s too drained to fully enjoy. He’s had this set up for **weeks**.

“Apparently.” She replies, low, giving him a pointed look, lingering on his shaggy hair he _knows_ she hates.

“I am not going to be that thing’s surrogate mother, nor am I anyone else’s.” She snaps as she fills in the last details of his housing agreement and Bucky does try to bite down the smug remark, it really isn’t worth it.

“I’ll tell the line outside to beat it then, I guess.” He manages.

“Go home, Barnes.” She sighs, handing him a folder of information and a key (which he doesn’t pry as to why she has when he has just signed the agreement, it’s safer not to ask questions) he probably ought to keep safe seeing as she’s actually bothering to give it to him.

“Sure. I’ll let you know when I find it.” And it’s a joke. But it also, really isn’t.

He goes straight there and it takes him a long time to find because he’s not really trying that hard to find it. Only when it gets cold does he makes an effort to seek where his new, barren home will be. It’s a surprisingly bitter late August night, a foreshadow to the biting autumn that will take hold soon. He’s been stewing in his melancholy for the entire walk to the place that is absolutely nowhere near his old place, never should have walked, when he sees the blue door. He actually laughs. It’s a hollow, sad thing, but it’s there and it makes him dig the key out of his pocket.

He’s on the second floor and the lights in the building are all off. He doesn’t bother turning them on and absently hopes there’s a mattress in his place as he climbs the creaky staircase. All he can think is that some of the stairs should be making a higher groan and they should have an ugly khaki carpet that he really hates and misses in weird equal measure.

It’s getting late and his mind has wandered far so he doesn’t notice the figure dawdling at the top of the stairs and walks into them with enough force to go through them. Luckily, or unluckily for Bucky, the figure is fairly built so he is stopped in his tracks and nearly falls back down the stairs until arms shoot out and steady him at the elbows, yanking him up onto the landing.

“Woah, hey, sorry, you alright?” A rich voice asks him, releasing his arms gingerly and he can make out vague features, the guy might be smiling but he can’t tell, his hair looks like it would be a light blonde in the sunshine and his shoulders are square. He’s pretty tall.

“I’m new here I guess I missed the memo about the stairs being booby trapped.” Bucky huffs, irritated and it shocks a little laugh out of the stranger.

“I guess I missed the memo about the new resident grouch,” He replies and there’s a smile in his voice for some reason and Bucky is really too _tired_.

“Yeah, well as fun as a lecture on manners would be, I’ve got an empty apartment to go to,” He snarks but the guy hasn’t moved and he doesn’t want to edge around him.

“Hey, tall, dark and abnormally large, wanna’ get out the way?” He grits out and he’s surprised he’s not got punched yet, distantly aware that this is his neighbour’s first impression of him but without energy to spare on caring.

“Whatever you say,” The voice is a little harsher now but still smugly amused and it’s so far under his skin that he wants to scream. He’s been here five minutes and some dick who is Blue Door Place’s welcome rep thinks he can take the piss out of him. Still, he controls himself and manages to get around and to his door further down the corridor.

He fumbles with his key in the dark lock, ignoring the fact that the guy has yet to go into his apartment, it’s too dark for him to have been recognised. He lets himself in without sparing a look or comment to the other man and locks it behind him, obnoxiously loud, hoping the guy hears it and takes it for what it is. A barbed fence. A neon sign flashing happily, LED lights reading ‘fuck off’ bright and relentless in the dark. A few seconds later he hears another door open and shut and assumes it must have worked.

He turns and flicks on the shitty, lone bulb in his hallway. He turns it back off seconds later, deciding it’s too much to really look at yet. He is a little relieved to see the mattress in the middle of the living room and ignores the stains or stray springs poking through, crumpling on it and falling asleep before he can think anymore.

“No really,” Clint says to him the next day, perched on the barren countertop and eyeing up the stark apartment. “It’s like, hobo chic, very high brow drug dealer,” He offers and Bucky wants to throw something at him but there isn’t anything.

“Yeah well, thanks but I’ve not turned to drugs quite yet.” He says as he kicks his mattress over to the window.

“You say that, your complexion says otherwise.”

“I can’t believe I’m listening to life criticism from the man who’s apartment is part swamp!”

“Hey! Legally it’s no longer a biohazard, they fucking overreacted!” He defended, a finger pointing across the room to drive his point home.

“Your poor fucking neighbours.” Bucky mutters, shoving his hands in his pockets and reflexively twitching the prosthetic fingers.

“You met yours?” And that is the million dollar question. Bucky groans and lets his head sink against the wall and Clint begins to cackle.

“Come on, tell the human disaster how you fucked up, validate me.” He laughs louder when Bucky shoots him a glare over his shoulder.

“Picked a fight with the guy next door,” He says, turning and sliding into a sitting position by the window so he can see Clint’s reaction.

“Ooh, what did he do?” Clint asks excitably.

“Stopped me falling down the stairs.”

A pause.

“Yeah, sounds like a real asshole,” Clint says and Bucky flips him off.

“I was tired and he was in the way.”

“You’re such a people person, no wonder the fans like you best,” He teases and Bucky sighs heavily. “You know you gotta’ apologise, right?”

“I’d rather just avoid the guy for the rest of time, actually.”

“No, no.” Clint says, shaking his head sagely. “I raised you better –”

“You throw frisbees at teenagers out of your window –”

“We must restore your loveable rogue reputation –”

“No one calls me that.”

“Bucky. Buckster. I’m telling you this because I care, because you’re my family –”

“Because I don’t tell Nat that –”

“ **Family**.” Clint says over him and Bucky sends him an evil grin which he counter by sticking his tongue out. “If you don’t want this guy to find out who you are and plaster it all over the internet then you need to apologise and be all charming so he’ll want to keep it a secret.”

“Fuck sake, fine. But this is a shitty idea, and it’s _your_ shitty idea, Barton.” He says with some vigour and Clint actually looks affronted but nods, accepting his fate as the mastermind of their shitty ideas.

“Go play nice,” Clint shoos him. “I’ll kip on your deluxe bed over there that is possibly growing mushrooms.”

“Get back in your exhibition, freak.” Bucky says as he opens his door.

“Cute.” Is all he hears before he slams it shut, knowing full well Clint is climbing out of the fire escape now.

The corridor is fairly long but he gets to the other door too soon. He doesn’t knock for a few seconds, debating just going back into his apartment and using the fire escape for all entrances and exits from now until the end of time. But Clint’s right, he can’t burn bridges when he’s only lived here for 12 hours. He knocks twice but hard enough that it doesn’t feel like a cop out, and sure, he might pray that no one answers. He’s not so lucky though because after far too short of a time he hears someone fumbling with the latch and the door swings open to reveal _fucking Adonis_.

“Oh, it’s you,” The guy says because Bucky didn’t jump in like he’d planned to, the words jammed in his throat. His tone doesn’t sound too mad, just wary, like Bucky might start a fight with him again.

“Sorry I called you abnormally large.” He says very quickly and shifts uncomfortably in the doorway, thinking about all the other places he would rather be. The guy smiles a little and tilts his head, giving Bucky a once over and he stiffens, waiting to be properly recognised, or some shit about his arm, but it doesn’t happen.

“It’s fine, I get it a lot,” He offers and Bucky nods, looking past him and scoping out his apartment to avoid eye contact. It’s nice. The same size as Bucky’s but homey, decorated, light. His mattress is probably becoming sentient back in his derelict living room.

“Right, well, that’s… it, just, wanted to let you know.” He murmurs, clearing his throat, a frown etched on his face as he tries to leave but the guy half follows him.

“Well, wait a sec, you’re living next door then?” He asks and Bucky nods once.

“Name’s Steve, I own the book café down the street, well, co-own, but,” And he shrugs as if to say, ‘same difference’. And he’s looking at Bucky expectantly and he realises that this guy doesn’t know who he is and wants to know what he does. This doesn’t happen anymore, he doesn’t meet people and when he does it’s fans or other musicians so organic stranger introductions are a thing of the past. He feels a rush of relief flood through him at the guy’s genuine passing curiosity, nothing prying, just interested. And maybe that’s what makes him lie.

“Bucky, I, uh, music,” He stutters a little, unsure how to articulate it.

“You teach it?” Steve fills in helpfully and Bucky, the absolute tool, nods. And then it’s happened. And Steve smiles warmly at him and he can’t take it back now. “Whereabouts?”

“Uh, all over, really.” He hedges and Steve frowns a little, still curious.

“Oh right, you’re like a substitute?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Bucky says with a flat laugh and steps back again, desperately needing to untangle himself from this newly formed web of lies he’s fallen into and will definitely come back to haunt him, he’s positive.

“Alright, well if you ever want to pop round, or, you know, talk, I’m here and I’m always down in the café, it’s Shield down the road, so. Don’t be a stranger.” He says with a friendly smile. A dazzling, friendly smile. Bucky nods but he’s pretty sure he’s looking at the guy like he’s insane because he winces a little and returns inside to his apartment. Bucky realises he’d gotten half way down the corridor during their conversation and hangs his head in frustration. So, now the guy just thinks he’s a weirdo instead of a dick.

Clint calls an hour later.

“So, how’d it end up?”

“Somehow worse.” He admits and Clint snorts down the phone and then chokes on whatever he’s eating and Bucky sends a little thanks into the universe for small justices. He recovers quickly.

“Did you punch him?”

“No but I think he just thinks I’m a weirdo,”

“You are.” And Bucky should have seen that coming. “He know who you are?”

“No, actually, which is…”

“Neat.” Clint finishes easily.

“Yeah,” Bucky says slowly, a colour in his tone that makes Clint stop and properly listen, he can tell.

“But?” He prompts and Bucky drags a hand over his face.

“I may have accidentally told him I’m a music teacher substitute.” He confesses with a grimace.

“Right,” He draws the word out as he chews. “And, how do you accidentally tell someone you’re a music teacher and not a famous musician?”

“We’re not that big, Clint.”

“You are, pal.” His friend scoffs and he groans.

“Just kind of happened and it was easier than explaining everything. Besides, I don’t want him to know who I am, right?” He amends and Clint makes a non-committal sound.

“Sure, but if he figures it out, he’ll be pissed.”

“Well, he won’t. It doesn’t matter anyway,” He dismisses, unsure how this became such a big deal.

“Why is this such a big deal to you anyway?” And Bucky curses under his breath in exasperation because of course Clint has somehow absorbed Natalia’s mind reading abilities.

“It’s not.” He says it and Clint openly laughs at him.

“Right, sure. So what’s he look like?” He pulls and Bucky knows he’s already been caught.

“Just, normal. Attractive, normal guy.” He goes for nonchalant and the bellows of laughter tell him he’s played it wrong.

“You choked because you want to jump his bones, didn’t you?”

“No!”

“You lied to the hot neighbour so he’d be into you!”

“Fuck off.” And that makes it official.

“ _Nice_ play, Barnes.” He actually snorts with laughter, ugly, hysterical laughter and Bucky hangs up.

Staring at the wall opposite him and thinking back to hot neighbour Bucky wants to slam his head against the nearest hard surface. Steve. Hot neighbour is Steve. And Bucky is utterly fucked.

Wednesday at least comes quickly so he can get his stuff moved in, he chucked the mattress and slept on the floor for the last night, preferring the wood to the dubious sounds and smells the mattress produced. The moving guy helps him with his stuff into the building but says he has a back injury and can’t lift them up the stairs and Bucky lets him go. He’s staring at the boxes and chewing his lip as he considers how he’s going to manage all of them alone when his phone rings.

“How’s things with your hot neighbour?” It’s Natalia and her voice is dripping with smugness.

“Tell Clint he can go fuck himself.” He snaps and hangs up to the sound of her laugh.

“You need a hand?” Comes a voice from behind him that he doesn’t register.

“Yeah, real funny, pal.” He says absently, shaking his prosthetic in the air. He doesn’t care about one arm jokes, Nat and Clint _live_ on them and he makes them all too often, but strangers being dicks he doesn’t have time for.

“Oh, God, sorry that’s not what I meant at all,” The voice gushes and he turns and, naturally, is faced with what must be 6’4 of pure muscle and neighbourly goodness.

“Sorry, it’s cool, honestly.”

“You need help with this?” He asks, of course and Bucky actually cracks a smile but shakes his head.

“No thanks,”

“Pal, I’ve got nothing better to do and these look heavy. I don’t mind so, do you need help?” Steve, his name is Steve, says and Bucky regards him carefully, watching for any pity but can’t spot any.

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Thanks.” He accepts stiltedly and Steve nods, easy as anything, hoists up a box and starts up the stairs. Bucky follows suit and lets them in when they reach his apartment. “It’s, I’ve not sorted it out yet.” Bucky says, suddenly feeling the need to explain the state of the place.

“No, it’s fine, it’ll be nice when you’ve got all your things in here.” Steve says and the smile he gives Bucky is completely unwarranted and overly warm and Bucky frowns at the urge to move closer because what the hell. Nat is going to have a field day with him.

They bring everything up fairly quickly and maybe Bucky is being faster and picking the heavier boxes but he’ll deny showing off until his dying day. Steve keeps up a heavy flow of chatter and he learns that Steve co-owns the bookstore café with his friend Peggy who he says is definitely the mastermind and he loves talking to the regulars and getting to chat about books with the smell of coffee all day. He also learns that Steve’s laugh is all breathy when he’s concentrating, he doesn’t mind Bucky’s silences and he wears dangerously tight shirts.

“That looks like all of it,” He announces when they’ve brought it all up and Bucky nods.

“Yeah, thanks man.” He puts out a hand and Steve shakes it firmly and Bucky ignores that it feels really good and makes a conscious effort to let go. Another smile. Does he not run out of those eventually?

“I’m assuming you aren’t busy today after you unpack?” Steve asks casually and Bucky shrugs, wondering whether to ask Steve to stay for a bit, though it’s not like he can offer anything but water at this point. Still, Clint’s nagging voice about manners is _somehow_ lodged in the back of his mind.

“Come to the shop later, meet Peggy, have a break from moving in,” He offers and Bucky’s already nodding before he hears the end of the sentence and then backpedals madly, thinking about the possibility of meeting more people and it makes him uneasy.

“Oh, I don’t know, I kinda’ want to get all this sorted today,” He tries and Steve smiles pleadingly.

“First coffee’s free,” He wheedles and Bucky huffs a laugh.

“That ain’t a good marketing technique, Steve.” He points out but doesn’t decline and Steve beams at him.

“Well, it’s not free for everyone, you’re a special case.” He says it conspiratorially, like it’s some private joke they’ve got and Bucky is staring at him again like he’s crazy because it’s that or he drools.

“I am?”

“Sure, my new neighbour,” Steve shoves his shoulder playfully and Bucky smacks his hand away good-naturedly with a little laugh. And it feels good. Natural even to muck around like this, like they’re old friends and not virtual strangers.

“You’re a real boy scout, you know that?”

“Did I leave my badges on again?” He plays along.

“That’d ruin the tough guy aesthetic, don’t you think?” He teases with a smirk and Steve actually laughs really hard and nods.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Except that fire starting badge you’ve got in your wallet, should I be worried about that?”

“Who told you about that?”

“The government.” He deadpans and Steve laughs again and Bucky actually huffs a laugh out too because this is ridiculous. How is this so comfortable, they’re having a back and forth like it’s nothing. He busies himself with a box whilst Steve leans against a wall and watches.

“I’m glad you’re my new neighbour.” He says like it doesn’t make Bucky’s stomach flip.

“Steve, you masochist, I just called you a pyro and you’re all chirpy about it,” He quips, not looking up from the photos he’s pulling out of the boxes.

“Unorthodox, the word is unorthodox.” Steve corrects and Bucky shoots a grin at him.

“Okay, weirdo, remind me not to get you candles for your birthday, or anything flammable for that matter,” He mutters as he doesn’t linger on the photograph of his parents and places them on a shelf in the corner. Steve laughs to himself and mutters something.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing, just, my birthday’s July 4th so flammable stuff is kind of a theme. Maybe that’s where this all began,” He says dramatically and Bucky snorts, shaking his head. 4th July. Of course.

“That explains why you look like America personified, then.” He snipes and laughs at the little squawk it earns him.

“You look like grumpy personified, what’s your excuse?”

“Wow, way to pick on a guy with one arm, Steve.” And he drawls, smirking and Steve narrows his eyes. And it’s unfortunate that, that paired with him crossing his _ridiculous_ arms makes Bucky’s knees want to buckle on principle.

“You’re an asshole.” He concludes and it startles a laugh from Bucky.

“Didn’t know you had it in you! Now get out of here, I gotta’ unpack.”

“You’re coming later though, right?” Steve pushes and Bucky smirks curiously at him, thrilled to see a little blush lingering.

“Aw, you worried about me, Steve? I think you’re attached to me already,” He teases and Steve frowns at him, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t want you to die in your apartment, you’re right, I’m in too deep,” He snaps back with some humour and Bucky has to physically bite down on his tongue to stop the remark that nearly slipped out which would have made things weird really fast. “It’ll be fun, you and Peggy’ll hit it off and I’ll only mention that you were a dick like twice before I drop it.”

“Yes, alright, I’ll be round later, go away, loser.” He laughs and Steve grins and promptly leaves, even stopping for a dorky wave at the door. When it closes Bucky sinks onto his sofa with his head in his hands.

“I’m so fucked.” He says to the empty room.

When he’s unpacked fully and is stalling until he goes and visits Steve’s shop he rings Nat, because really, he’ll have to eventually he might as well bite the bullet.

“Мой славный котёнок,” She crows happily and Bucky groans.

“Мой паук,” He huffs, humouring her a little. “Please, not now. What am I gonna’ do?” She hums in amusement for a second.

“Well, what is the issue here?”

“He’s so… good.”

“Wow,”

“Yeah.”

“So go for it. Quit whining.” She advises and it’s a valid suggestion really.

“We barely know each other.”

“Sounds like you have lots to talk about then.” She hits back, unwilling to let him shy away. He rarely gets crushes and when he does he never goes for it. He sleeps around a bit, sure, but not that often and it’s never serious.

“He thinks I’m a teacher. And I called him abnormally large.” He pouts and Nat’s sigh is borderline aggressive.

“Нахуя́ мне э́то на́до?” She mutters murderously and he rolls his eyes.

“Because you love me.” He snaps. “I’ll just go for a coffee, I’ll take it to go, say hi and leave. That’ll be fine.”

“Your pep talks are so inspiring.” She drawls.

“Would you rather I don’t go?”

“I’d rather you ask him out!”

“I can’t ask him out, I only met him two days ago!”

“I’ve seen you get a guy in bed after ten minutes, buck up.” She snarks and he glares at his phone. “I _could_ send Clint over for moral support,” She propositions dangerously.

“I’m going, I’m hanging up and I’m going. Message fucking received.” He gripes and ends the call, swiftly grabbing his jacket to head down the road. He knows better than to call Nat on a bluff.

He gets an email about the European tour dates only two minutes after they ended the call from Natalia so he figures she’s not going to send the cavalry and is rewarding him for his good behaviour. The dates on the screen alongside various cities make electricity course through him. He loves touring, playing every night, getting paid, having people sing and yell his words back to him like they _mean_ something. He wonders if there’ll be the same atmosphere outside of the States but Natalia assures him that seeing how fast the shows sold out, they should be fine. His phone beeps again and it’s a text from Clint.

_Clint – 7:11_

_Nat says you’re going to see hot neighbour at work – kinky_

_Bucky – 7:12_

_You’re the worst kind of person_

_Clint – 7:12_

_shut up i am your reason for being we all know it_

_what are u wearing??_

_did you remember lip gloss_

Bucky doesn’t reply as he walks, frustration growing.

_Clint – 7:14_

_you’re right, then he’ll think you’re going to put out_

_make him work girl_

_Bucky – 7:15_

_I am actually begging you to shut the fuck up_

_I’ll bitch about you to Nat in Russian and you won’t know what we’re saying_

_Clint – 7:17_

_no fair u know that turns me on_

_Bucky – 7:18_

_You need help_

_Clint – 7:19_

_I don’t need help I have a dog_

_That’s basically therapy_

_I read it on a blog_

_Anyway go woo_

_!!_

Bucky mutes his phone and remembers how annoying Clint will be on tour. They have to share hotel rooms a lot and he’s sometimes scared to leave his bed for fear of what beasts Clint has ‘taken in’ from the cold and are scurrying around under the beds, eating the remains of his pizza. Luckily, he’s pulled from his reminiscing by the large lettered sign reading ‘Shield Bookstore Café’ that hangs cosy above the door. It’s already getting a little dark and Bucky’s a little surprised that they’re still open.

The bell jingles as he enters and the smell is amazing. Rich coffee is just an underlying scent, not overwhelming, old books, flowers and pastries fill his senses and intoxicate him. Steve is behind the counter and hasn’t spotted him yet, he has earphones in and is intensely scrubbing what looks like a perfectly clean surface. He’s wearing an apron and a little green cap and looks downright delicious. Bucky walks over, right up to the counter and laughs when Steve still doesn’t notice him. He reaches out and thoughtlessly taps under Steve’s chin which makes his head snap up and they’re frighteningly close, both leant across the counter for a moment before Steve bolts upright with a blush and a laugh, pulling his earphones out with an apology.

“You came?” He says happily and Bucky shrugs with a tiny smile. “You want a coffee?”

“Nah, sworn off the stuff, I go a little crazy on caffeine,” Bucky declines and Steve nods solemnly.

“Same, won’t touch it.” He admits and Bucky fixes him with a confused, amused look.

“Steve, you’re kind of a barista,” He points out and they both laugh, Steve just shrugging, embarrassed and Bucky feels a little bad. “You got hot chocolate?” He asks and Steve nods with a smile, instantly busying himself with mugs and spoons and machines bubbling to life.

“So how’s work been?” Bucky tries for small talk. Steve laughs, seemingly about something in particular but doesn’t elaborate on specifics.

“Yeah, alright, quiet. I guess you’ll be back at work tomorrow,” He offers and Bucky flounders for a second before remembering that a school teacher would indeed be working on a Thursday.

“Yeah, got a few classes, pretty.. forgiving schedule,” He says, covering his unease with a laugh. The lies taste dirty in his mouth, like he’s making himself out to be someone better than he is but there’s no way for him to own up now without Steve thinking he’s a dick and not speaking to him again. Which, for some reason, feels unacceptable.

“So do you play any instruments?” Steve asks and Bucky has to remind himself that Steve isn’t figuring it out, these are normal questions to ask a music teacher. He steadies himself as Steve gets whipped cream from a little fridge and busies himself with chocolate sprinkles and marshmallows.

“Here and there, a bit of guitar, piano, I’m really no good,” He attempts to dismiss but Steve smiles warmly over his shoulder and Bucky feels like he’s swallowed his own tongue.

“I’m sure that’s not true, I bet people would love to hear you play,” Steve says absently and Bucky lets out a little hysterical laugh because he’s _way_ past lying now and into ironic identity fraud, surely.

“Maybe you’re right, Steve.” He huffs as Steve passes the towering creamed hot chocolate over the counter and Bucky hops up onto the stool, seeing as he’s now staying. Steve leans onto the countertop expectantly and Bucky rolls his eyes with a smile.

There’s no way to drink it without getting covered in cream but maybe that was Steve’s intention so he just goes for it. Taking a large gulp and getting cream all around his mouth and on his nose, the chocolate gliding down his throat which reverberates in a downright dirty moan because shit, it’s _good_. He puts the drink down with big appreciative nods and sounds of assent because he can’t speak yet and only spots Steve watching him carefully halfway through the movement of wiping the cream from his mouth and sucking it off of his finger. Steve’s face is the tiniest bit pink and who could blame Bucky for exaggerating the movement whilst maintaining eye contact. He might be a walking disaster but he can flirt.

It’s then that a gorgeous brunette walks in from the back, making no effort to keep quiet and Steve shoots up to standing. She smiles at the two of them like she knows something they don’t and walks straight over.

“Hi, you must be Bucky.” She offers a hand and Bucky hastily wipes any lingering cream remnants on his jeans and shakes her hand with what he hopes is a charming smile. Her accent is thickly British and the woman is seeping intelligence, a sharpness about her that reminds Bucky all too well of Natalia.

“Peggy, right?” He asks and she nods.

“Steve’s quite the chatterer,” She grins and Steve’s blush turns scarlet. Bucky laughs, already enjoying himself far too much.

“Yeah, practically invited himself into my place earlier,” Bucky pushes, eyes on Steve’s back and it’s worth it because he whirls around, indignant.

“That is not what happened.” He whines.

“Steve, honestly, you’re really a giant child,” She sighs wearily as Steve disappears through the back door. “Emphasis on giant.” She says knowingly smiling at Bucky and he can’t help a little smile back. She’s clearly asking the question here.

“Amen to that.” He mutters and she gasps, delighted.

“I knew it.” She grins again and winks at him when Steve comes back through the doors (sadly) without his apron and hat, instead with his jacket on and keys in his hand. “I’ll lock up today, Steve, you can walk home with your new neighbour.” She snatches the keys from him and bumps his hip before vanishing into the back room.

The two of them make their way outside and it’s gotten dark a lot quicker than Bucky expected so it suddenly feels like night time.

“So, that’s Peggy.” Steve says as they start walking and for some reason the air feels a little charged.

“She’s great,” He smiles and Steve nods happily. “Got you wrapped around her little finger, I see.” He smirks and Steve looks away a little bashfully and it’s adorable and Bucky’s kind of pissed off about the whole thing really.

“Yeah, she’s brilliant. Couldn’t wish for a better person to go into business with, honestly.” And he’s so goddamned earnest.

“I’m sure she’d say the same about you,” Bucky says and it’s true. Who wouldn’t? He’s barely had more than three (not all successful) conversations with the guy and he’s convinced that Steve is one of those solidly good people who are just genuinely good to the bone. Rare finds, really.

“I should see you at work soon, it’s only fair,” Steve counters with a shove and Bucky shoves him back, ignoring the discomfort in his speeding heartbeat.

“Yeah, maybe one day. It’s not exactly a spectator sport, teaching.” And Steve laughs which makes the whole thing worse. He doesn’t want the lying to get easier. It’s the only thing stopping this from being awesome.

“You’re right, still, I bet you’re popular with the students.”

“Not really, just a backstage kind of guy,” And he wants to grimace, wants to groan and bury his head in his hands at the soft smile it earns him because this is pretty fucked up now. What he’s doing, right here, is a fucked up thing.

“You wanna’ watch a movie or something, do a little housewarming thing seeing as I basically was awful at welcoming you when you actually arrived,” Steve offers and Bucky laughs, rolling his eyes.

“Steve, I literally picked a fight with you, who are you?”

“Come on, I’ll bring snacks, maybe you can invite some of your friends over, make a night of it,” And he looks all pumped about the idea. Bucky’s heart sinks a little when he realises Steve doesn’t care if it’s just the two of them or not.

“The guy you told to go fuck himself?” Steve offers cheerfully and Bucky actually does choke on air a little but recovers quickly, covering it.

“When did I do that?”

“Earlier, on the phone.”

“Right.”

“Unless, you wanted to just have a night with your friends, which is completely fine, too,” Steve backtracks, misunderstanding Bucky’s pause.

“No, let’s do it. It’ll be fun but, I warn you, my friends are a little… it’s a lot sometimes.” He explains poorly and Steve laughs but nods, understanding.

“Well, I’ll be on my best behaviour.” And he _winks_. Bucky all but collapses through their building’s door. Does the bastard even understand what he’s doing?

“Yeah, well they won’t be, so, be prepared. I warned you.” He covers and Steve nudges him.

“Calm down, would you? Go get ready, I’ll come over at like nine-thirty? Just need to shower.” He supplies and Bucky just nods, not trusting himself to speak. They part on the landing and Bucky is speedy about getting into his apartment, shutting the door and quickly getting to work on having a good panic. Then he has to drag Natalia and Clint into this mess, too.

“There are ground rules.” He says heavily to Clint over the phone who is practically bursting from excitement because _this never happens_. Bucky never has boyfriends and never lets them meet any potentials.

“Sure, sure,” He agrees happily.

“I’m a teacher and we _stick_ to that story, no bullshit jokes about the band, no getting drunk, no pestering Steve for personal information and don’t fucking embarrass me.” He lists off and Clint lets out a long whistle.

“You’re really sold on this guy.”

“I honestly hate myself in this moment.”

“Hey, it’s fine, if anyone can sell a story it’s Nat. Besides, who gives a shit what you work as, he’s there for you so we just won’t talk about work,” Clint reassures and Bucky does actually feel marginally better. “So I can bring the baby photos, right?” The feeling fades.

“I should never have let you meet Becca.” He grouses.

“Hey, we’re a dream team.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Hang on, give me Steve’s number, I’ll introduce myself,” He asks evilly and Bucky stares up at the ceiling, half-hoping it’ll fall on him.

“I don’t have his number and even if I did, I would definitely not give it to you.” He says exasperatedly and Clint squawks at him.

“Why don’t you have his number?!”

“Because I just met the guy, and he lives a three second walk from me, dumbass.”

“And because you’re too chicken to ask for it.”

“I don’t need it!”

“But you want it,”

“I do not,” He growls, stubbornly determined to never get Steve’s number now just to prove Clint wrong. It feels counter-productive to his very core but he’s not going to let Clint win.

“Oh, down boy.”

“I’m **hanging up**.”

“Wait, wait! So, tonight, this is your Julia Roberts moment, yeah?”

“Be here at nine thirty, you asshole.” Bucky grits out and hangs up. This is definitely a bad idea.

Nat is scarcely any better.

“How much can I scare him?”

“Natalia, I forbid you from actively scaring Steve.” He says like he actually has any power over him and she even laughs which is the nail in the coffin.

“He needs to be able to handle it to be good enough for you.” She retorts and he scoffs down the line.

“You mean, he needs to be able to handle it so you can decide if you want to keep him.” He corrects and he hears the smile.

“There’s little difference in those two statements, James.”

“Just please, try and act like you’re semi-normal, just until he knows me better,”

“This is a lot of effort for one guy,”

“Голубка, please,” He tries and it must work because he hears the sigh of defeat.

“Earlier I was a spider, now I’m a dove? He must be a catch.” Bucky lets out a pleading whine and she sighs wearily. “Alright, I’ll play nice, though I can’t promise not to have any fun.”

“Fine. I’ll take it.”

“Also, you owe me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Add it to the list.” He dismisses and she laughs and hangs up.

The night goes scarily well. Apart from the brief fumble where Clint made a joke about stage door and then had to cover it, panicked and started spouting knock knock jokes until Natalia kicked him, hard. Halfway through the night, Clint and Steve are duking it out for the title of Mario Kart champion and Steve red shells him and takes the win. Clint is actually heartbroken and Steve, it turns out, is a big believer in victory laps.

“We’re keeping him.” Natalia says with a small smile on her lips as Steve circles the room again, cheering, forcing Bucky to high five him for the third time.

“We’re keeping him.” He repeats and the warmth that builds in his chest is actually outrageous.

“Clint,” Steve says, out of breath from his laps and holding out some lemonade. “You want a drink? You look like a broken _shell_ of a man.” And that’s it. Bucky and Nat simultaneously suck in gasps of shocked delight and Clint _dives_ for Steve, lemonade soaking Bucky’s rug.

Steve giggles ridiculously as Clint tries to pin him and Bucky is **not jealous**. Natalia stretches her foot across the sofa and pokes him with her toes and he flips her off. Steve could obviously evade capture but chooses to let Clint pin him to be a good sport and Bucky’s mouth is fucking watering.

“You’re good but not good enough, Rogers.” Clint declares, buying into the illusion that he could actually take Steve and Bucky is beyond impressed that Clint manages no problem to get up and off of the flushed, slightly damp, giggling Steve who’s splayed out on his living room floor. _Where he should be_ , comes a traitorous thought from somewhere and he shakes his head to try and shake the unhelpful mental images away.

They eat the snacks Steve brought over, a selection of chocolate, croissants (who is this miracle among men, truly?) and drinks. Clint plays and beats Nat and Bucky at Mario Kart, refusing to let Natalia win to earn brownie points, his pride can’t take it. Steve takes a pointed back seat. He keeps shooting Bucky smiles from over Clint’s shoulder and Bucky wishes they were sat next to each other.

The night comes to a close after watching Love Rosie, because despite appearances, they are all suckers for a good romcom, Steve only solidified his position when he pulled out the DVD.

Nat, being the absolute wonder that she is, takes the initiative and drags Clint out before Steve has packed up his stuff and he and Bucky can have at least a minute or two on their own. They hug and he kisses her cheek as she praises him in Russian and he rolls his eyes, shoving her out of the door with Clint in tow. He turns and sees Steve watching him with fond eyes, and his eyes should not be fond, fond is too big for this soon.

“You didn’t say you spoke Russian,” He points out and Bucky flushes a little.

“Only bits and pieces, my Dad came from over there and Nat grew up there for a while so it’s kind of like, our thing,” He gestures uselessly but Steve nods.

“That’s sweet.” He is still just sat on the sofa and Bucky rubs the back of his neck, suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands or his feet or his tongue. Well, no, he knows exactly what he wants to be doing with his tongue but **now is really not the _time for that_**. So he shuffles around collecting the rubbish and throwing it away.

“Well, I should get going, got any early shift tomorrow, and you’ve got work.” Steve says, getting up and stretching.

“I have.” And Bucky _just_ manages to stop it from coming out as a question.

“Thanks for inviting me over.” He says and suddenly he’s right behind Bucky and he’s close enough that when Bucky turns he nearly bumps into Steve’s chest and forces himself to step back and give him some space.

“You kind of invited yourself over, pal. Again.” He teases and Steve smiles ruefully.

“Semantics, teach.” And that is doing **things** Bucky cannot handle.

“You up for.. doing it again? Like next week, same time?” Bucky offers and he shuts his tongue between his teeth to stop anything incriminating leaving his mouth. Steve regards him for a second and it looks like he goes to say something and then thinks better of it.

“Sure, hey, if it’s cool with you guys, I might bring my buddy, Sam? Or even Peggy if she’s free – and if you don’t mind having loads of guests.” He proposes and Bucky’s heart plummets into his feet but he smiles like that’s what he wanted to hear and he’s always been a good liar so Steve seems to take him at face value which sucks.

“I had a really great time, Buck.” Steve says and Bucky’s walking him to the door now which is all of a few feet away so it’s awkward and tense like something will happen. It wasn’t even a date. If Steve had classed this as a date with anyone it really should have been Clint for how physical they got. Another jolt of bitterness sweeps through him at the thought and it takes him by surprise. He’s swung both feet in here too fast and is adrift and Steve turns and smiles at him like he’s waiting and Bucky’s in charge and he’s really, really not.

“You need me to walk you home, big guy?” Bucky smirks, loosening the tension a little and Steve releases a big gust of air and laughs.

“I think I’ll make it. I’m a dangerous pyromaniac, remember?”

“I don’t think there’s a dangerous bone in your body,” Bucky mutters thoughtlessly and god damn he sounds fond now and Steve definitely notices and they’re really close.

“I can’t say the same about you,” Steve mumbles and wow, did it suddenly get dark or is Bucky closing his eyes, like, like they’re going to –

He pulls back sharply, clearing his throat and throws on his rough approximation of a grin, opening his apartment’s door. Steve looks a little jumpy but calms at Bucky’s smile and does that dorky half wave again when he leaves. Bucky leans against the door after Steve’s left and lightly thumps his head against it a couple of times, releasing a slow whine. Annoyed and kind of turned on, he cleans up his living room and goes to bed because clearly he needs more fucking sleep.

The next few weeks pass by agonisingly slowly, every minute punctuated by some stray thought about Steve plaguing him constantly. He visits the shop all the time, he and Peggy now ‘thick as thieves’ according to Steve. He’s even going to Steve’s place half of the time because they dropped social boundaries about how often you should visit each other on about the fourth day of knowing each other. They spend loads practically all of their time together, except when Bucky’s supposedly got ‘work hours’ and has to make himself scarce.

He has a lot of rehearsals and plans before they go on tour and Clint is merciless in his teasing – ‘Why don’t you invite Steve along’ – ‘What does Steve make of the new tracks?’ – ‘How is Steve handling dating America’s heartthrob?’ It’s enough to make Bucky want to create a beat with Clint’s head on the snare drum, and he’s told him this. Rehearsals are draining and he hates not being able to tell Steve about them and making crap up about lessons and marking and report days? That’s a thing, right? Report days? It better be.

Peggy even makes an appearance at one of their Wednesday game and movie nights. Steve slots in scarily well to their little group, bouncing off of Nat and Clint easily, clueing into private jokes, even some at Bucky’s expense. But mostly, he and Steve are the new tag team, inseparable and in sync enough to give Nat and Clint a run for their money.

“You realise we’re both fucking idiots.” Clint says to him one day where they’re lazing in Bucky’s apartment on a Saturday night watching some talent show with a woman crying because her fish died. Bucky lost track a while ago.

“Sure.” Bucky allows without needing to know the reason and Clint snorts and kicks him.

“I’m serious. We’re in this weird love square and we’re both pining and doing fuck all about it.” He complains, devouring his pizza as if it represented all of his problems.

“Well, first off, I am not doing fuck all, I am actively… something-ing with Steve, something’s going to happen –”

“I’m pretty sure something could have happened weeks ago –”

“Second of all,” Bucky interrupts with a glare. “It’s not a love square, that means we’re all in love with each other in some weird orgy situation.”

“I’m game.” Clint says and shrieks when Bucky shoves him off of the sofa.

One Saturday in early November Bucky wakes up to hammering on his door and his thoughts instantly spring to an angry landlord so he rushes to the door, ready to assure that he had in fact paid his rent. When he pulled the door open, Steve was there, grinning, tickets in hand and walked straight in past a confused, pyjama-d Bucky.

“Trespassing is a crime you know, Rogers.” He huffs as he goes into the kitchen and turns on his coffee machine, if he to be up at stupid o’clock then he needs his caffeine crutch.

“All the more reason for us to go out today.” Steve says, irritatingly cheerful and alert when it’s only, Christ, seven in the morning.

“Saturday mornings are sacred, you know. And you’ve disturbed my sleeping grounds, probably awakened some nasty spirits.” Bucky grumbles as he searches for a clean mug.

“Yeah, I think I can see one now.” Steve chuckles and Bucky flips him off. He makes his coffee and Steve is a good enough friend to keep quiet until after he’s taken the first sip but he’s smiling stupidly from the other side of the kitchen and Bucky lets out a world-weary sigh.

“Where you dragging me, Rogers?”

“So, you know you said you were kind of into acoustic music?” Steve asks and Bucky’s hands stiffen for a moment before he forces himself to relax.

“Yeah.” He prompts cautiously.

“Well, Dawn Square Gardens are having a showing of ‘new talent’ and I got us some tickets.” He grins and Bucky eyes him, a small smile creeping up but he wants to keep the grumpy morning shtick for a while longer.

“Outside?” He raises an eyebrow pointedly, because it’s freezing already.

“Don’t be a baby, we’ll take blankets or something but before that there’s some art exhibit on which I really want to check out.” Steve says as he snags some grapes from Bucky’s fridge.

“So really you have ulterior motives here,” Bucky remarks and Steve shrugs with a non-committal sound and a rogue smile and yet again Bucky is reminded of how fucked he is. “And why are we up during Satan’s hours?”

“Because the exhibit starts at noon and it takes two hours to get there and then we’ll want lunch and to walk around, you know,” He reasons and Bucky groans dramatically.

“You’re like a kid hopped up on sugar, this thing starts at _noon_!”

“Please, it’s a _day_ trip so we need to be awake for the whole _day_ , Buck.” Steve says as if it’s the most reasonable thing in the world.

“And why are we taking a spontaneous day trip?” He asks dryly.

“Because we are fun people who like fun things and a _rt_ ,” Steve whines childishly and Bucky snorts a laugh.

“Fine, but I’m in this for the painful indie music, that’s all.” Bucky points a finger at his smiling friend and then sighs and goes to get dressed.

He falls asleep on the way and when he wakes up it’s to Steve poking him and holding out a hotdog and a bottle of water.

“Thanks, Ma,” He croaks sarcastically but he downs the water so Steve looks smug. Looking around where they’re parked, there are hoards of people and the sun is blaring down. “Wait, what time is it?”

“Half twelve ish,” Steve says nonchalantly, taking a bite of his hotdog.

“Steve! You’re thing’s started, come on, we’re gonna’ miss it!” Bucky starts unbuckling his seatbelt and fumbling with his phone and keys.

“Buck, it’s on for ages, we’ve got time to eat,”

“No, we’ll eat and art, get your ridiculously large shoulders out of this car, if they’ll fit.” He says around a giant bite of hotdog as he jumps out of his side. Steve is amused but looks happy to be moving and as they reach the exhibit, contained in a giant gazebo with security and what must be hundreds of bouquets, he starts to all but vibrate in his excitement.

“Will you calm down, Picasso, we’ll be inside in two minutes.” Bucky says, elbowing him and Steve sighs, loud and impatient and the lady in front turns around to briefly glare at him. Stifling his laughter is more difficult when Steve starts scowling at him.

“The contemporary and impressionist work in here is stunning but there are some sculpture and charcoal pieces that I’m pretty obsessed with,” Steve says, leaning and peering around the queue which they’re nearly at the front of.

“Wait, you’ve seen the art already? I thought it was a new exhibit.”

“It’s not a new exhibition so much as a new exhibit of famous existing works,” Steve hedges and Bucky smacks him on the shoulder.

“I was brought here under false pretences,”

“You’ll love it, it’s so different seeing it in person,” He grins innocently and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“You’re such a nerd, Rogers.”

Inside, the exhibit is beautifully arranged, even the placement of chairs and lighting is artistic. And everyone is mumbling praise and drinking (complimentary, very nice) champagne, wandering the ethereal tent and examining priceless pieces of art which Bucky really doesn’t know all too much about. Steve gushes over a charcoal portrait for far too long and nearly ascends to a higher plane at one of the sculptures but Bucky is having a fantastic time. He’s watching Steve more than the art, giving his opinion when Steve asks him for it, which is surprisingly often considering they both know he’s not an art buff, but he’s just soaking up the good energy that is wafting off of Steve in droves.

A couple of times he thinks someone might have recognised him so he pulls down his cap and hunches his shoulders, Steve always shoots him a worried look, noticing way too quickly every time. But mostly he just lets himself absorb the facts and opinions that Steve seems to be bursting with. They stay until closing, dawdling so they can view the more expensive pieces without the gaggle of people taking photographs and nattering away.

One in particular seems to stop Steve in his tracks. It’s a pretty oil piece, understated but delicate and coloured gorgeously. It’s obviously expensive but it isn’t garish in any way, remarkably tasteful. It depicts the ocean, boats, maybe a harbour, and it feels calm.

“This was my Ma’s favourite,” Steve says suddenly and Bucky looks back to his friend and sees something longing in his eyes, something unresolved. “It’s a Monet, sort of marks the turn into impressionism, I mean it’s called Impression Sunrise, but,” He trails off, losing his line of thought as he gazes at the painting and Bucky feels like he’s losing him a little. He knows Steve lost his Mother to cancer but he’s only mentioned her to Bucky once before after Bucky told him about the loss of his parents, and the subject was never brought up again.

“Tell me about it?” He asks gently, stepping carefully into his personal space so their arms are pressed together and Steve takes a deep shuddering breath.

“It’s a port, Le Havre, sort of Northwest France area, it was Monet’s hometown. He did something like six pieces of this one port but… I don’t know this one, my Ma she just loved it.”

“Do you?”

“I used to.” A long pause. “It hurts a little now.”

Bucky nods, staying silent.

“It’s home though. That picture is, it was on our mantel since I could remember, my Ma would fall asleep staring at it. Pretty sure my Dad bought it for her but I was too worried about upsetting her to ask so I’ll never know.” Bucky presses his shoulder a little firmer to Steve’s and feels his friend lean into the touch. Like an anchor.

“Home can hurt sometimes.” Bucky says softly and they’re hidden around a corner but no one has come to fetch them yet so it’s oddly quiet and still. Steve blinks over to him with a distorted smile.

“Yeah, but I love it, you know?” He says and he sounds worried as if he’s wrong to say so.

“Sure.” He says seriously. They wait a while longer before they hear chatter from organisers and decide to head out and get some air. They sit on a bench and make quiet, safe conversation for a while whilst Steve pulls himself out of whatever heavy headspace he was in.

“You alright?” Bucky asks, not looking at him, not adding any pressure.

“Yeah, I actually feel kind of good.” Steve laughs a little and Bucky glances over, quirking an eyebrow in question. “Just, it was sad but it was good.” And the words seem to stick in Bucky’s head as his own parents flit through his mind. He rarely thinks about them because it hurts but, they were wonderful people, they were good.

“So, you aren’t gonna’ go and shove your head in the coffee machine when you get back?” Bucky teases lightly.

“Nah, but I might use yours, way more therapeutic.”

“What a stand up guy, that’s the spirit.”

“Shut up.” Steve laughs and lets out a big exhale, refreshed. “Shall we go find you some painful indie music?” He asks with a grin and Bucky returns it.

“Now we’re talking.”

The whole time they are sat in the crowd, listening to the young performers tinkering with guitars and keyboards and singing softly enough that their voice might drift into the melody, Bucky can’t help but feel disgustingly inspired. Everything he looks at becomes lyrics and harmonies and all he’s really looking at is Steve. He must have internally written half a dozen songs to Steve by now and the guy is just sat there, looking hazy and serene.

The audience is calm, everyone sitting fairly far from the stage so the music just reaches them, blankets and picnics emerging as the sun sets early and the stars start to watch them. It only occurs to Bucky an hour in that the whole scene is dangerously romantic. Steve’s lying down next to him by now, eyes drooping, hands behind his head and Bucky is sitting. He could just turn and lean down, press a light kiss onto his lips. It would make the day perfect. He feels intoxicated by the manipulative sway of the music, talking him into romantic thoughts that he usually doesn’t let himself entertain.

“You having fun, Buck?” Steve mumbles suddenly, eyes still closed and Bucky starts.

“I think we’re the youngest ones here, I didn’t realise this was a retirement home destination.”

“Well, you’re old. Besides, s’not what I asked.”

“Yeah, I’m having a great time, are you happy? Smug bastard.” He quips and Steve’s lips quirk up into a gorgeous smile that makes Bucky want to tear his hair out.

“Yeah, I’m real happy.”

“Thanks, Steve. For today.” He says a little awkwardly and this makes Steve crack one eye open to watch him. Even with just one eye the scrutiny feels too much. He seems to be satisfied with what he finds though because it closes again and Bucky breathes out.

“You’re welcome, Buck.”

Another hour later and they go back to the car, it can’t be later than nine thirty but Bucky feels exhausted.

“Because you’re old.” Steve snarks and Bucky huffs at him as he buckles his seatbelt and gets comfortable. He falls asleep again on the ride home to the sound of the highway and Steve’s gentle humming of one of the songs they liked the most.

It’s pleasant and strange to wake up to Steve’s face smiling down at him, hand extended and Bucky lets him help to get up from the seat. The walk back up to their floor is quiet and Steve walks to Bucky’s door which is weird and kind of thrilling. He’s not sure if he should expect something or initiate something or if Steve is just being friendly.

“You wanna’ come in for a bit?” And it took all his courage to ask that question. Steve even bites his lip, looking conflicted before he sighs and shakes his head. Bucky tries to keep the disappointment from showing on his face.

“Nah, I’m in at 6 and I haven’t showered or anything. Another time.” He promises and he does say it like a promise. He even waits for Bucky to nod like everything is okay before he smiles again. Bucky says goodnight in the same quiet hush that seems to fall over them whenever he feels like they’re on the brink of something, anything. But then he’s in his apartment and the door is shut and he hears Steve walk away and he’s alone. And he’s not so sure then that he didn’t make the whole feeling up.

It continues in this way, taking trips, spending time together at the shop and at their apartments, hanging out with Clint and Nat and it feels both too good to be true and also just never quiet _enough_. Then, suddenly, it’s tour week and Bucky’s packing to be gone for weeks and it feels surreal. He’s beyond excited and is trying to ignore the nagging feeling about how much he’ll miss Steve and the real issue being, Steve would be the person he gushed to about how excited he was for the tour but he can’t. Steve thinks he’s going on an exchange programme to Paris because Bucky’s a terrible person who lies to the person he wants to be with to maintain a relationship founded on lies. Cute.

The night before he’s due to go on tour/exchange trip, Steve is round his and they’re eating take out on the sofa watching reruns of Friends and chatting. Steve talks about the regulars at the shop, Bucky talks about Clint maybe having a radioactive apartment, Steve mentions he’ll miss Bucky. They stop and Bucky glances over the other end of the sofa, their legs tangled in the middle now feel like lead weights.

“You will?”

“’Course I will, Buck,” He says like Bucky’s being dumb and he is realistically but he just wanted to hear Steve confirm it and feed the unhealthy crush that’s morphed into a tiny infatuation.

“It’s just a month.” He says but even saying it feels horrible and Steve’s face scrunches up.

“Yeah.” He says but neither of them are happy about it.

“I think I get two visits back,” Bucky offers and Steve looks confused.

“Why would they send you back in the middle of an exchange, surely that would cost the school a fortune?” And he’s got a point. Bucky inwardly flails for a single second before responding.

“Well, apparently I’m good enough that they’re willing to fly me back for some, uh, special appointments with some rich kids, everything’s sponsored at this school I’m at, seriously.” His heartbeat is in his ears as he tries to nonchalantly eat some more rice. Steve nods and a smile slowly blooms on his face which makes the panic drift but the heartbeat doesn’t relent.

“So you’ll pop by, right?” Steve pushes, sounding like he had to force out the question and Bucky huffs a laugh, kicking him gently so he doesn’t jostle their food.

“’Course, Stevie, what do you take me for, huh?” He says like it’s obvious. They fall back into a happy silence, eating and watching TV, occasionally making jokes but Steve looks distracted now. Not necessarily unhappy, but deep in thought and Bucky isn’t sure whether to bring it up or not but he doesn’t want to get into anything the night before he leaves for tour and spend the whole time confused or unhappy. Knowing him, he’d say something stupid right before he left and it’s better to just keep his damn mouth shut and not ruin the good thing they have going here.

Steve can’t stay over too late because Bucky’s flight is at 5am and **he is not** a morning person. Still, it’s eleven by the time they inevitably dawdle by the door in their usual fashion, dragging out the end of the evening. The joking and laughing has put Bucky into a state of uncharacteristic calm before a tour, he feels at ease and a lazy happy that makes him want to sink into his mattress and sleep dreamlessly.

“I can’t believe you haven’t learnt any French before you go,” Steve says, faux-disappointed.

“I have a bit of French flirting under my belt, that’s all I’ll really need,” He grins and Steve snorts, shifting his feet a little.

“You’re going on an exchange, loser, it’s not for flirting.” And is he pouting?

“I meant flirting with the French instruments, wooing their tools of music, why, what’d _you_ think I meant?” He says, eyeing Steve like he’s being gross and it earns him a big laugh and a playful shove.

“I _think_ , you’re full of it, Barnes.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not wrong,” He replies with a happy smile and Steve gives this big, happy sigh, one that carries more than he’s saying, mouth curled upwards and Bucky’s suddenly filled with the urge to just taste it, to hear that sigh in his mouth. His fingers are physically itching with the distraction of Steve’s hair that’s just begging to be mussed and he is so distracted he misses what Steve says.

“Sorry, what?” He asks and Steve blanches.

“Well, it wouldn’t be _so_ bad,” He coughs a laugh self-consciously. “A date, with me.” He finishes and Bucky’s mind _flat lines_.

“No.” Is all he can think – it wouldn’t be. It would be fucking wonderful. And he’d definitely put out on the first date despite Steve’s boy scout objections.

However, Steve’s face falls and at some point the door opened but Bucky doesn’t remember doing that.

“Right. Yeah, yes, sorry you’re r–, yes, okay. Forget I said anything.” Steve stumbles, stepping out and then back for a second and then smiling in the worst way that makes Bucky’s blood go cold.

“Hang on, Steve, I –”

“No, really. Please don’t– don’t worry about the whole thing. I’ll uh, I’ll see you later – after the exchange, or, whenever. Okay, bye.” He reels off and then he’s out and the door is shut and Bucky lets out a sound of horrified confusion. What just happened? What did he just fuck up? He feels sluggish and his arms are just useless by his sides and should he be doing something right now? Did Steve just, did he just –

“Oh, shit,” He breathes and scrambles for the door, bolting down the corridor and knocking wildly on Steve’s front door. He waits for a few seconds, heart beating painfully and he tries to swallow the nerves building but there’s this thrill he’s riding on because Steve _asked him out_. Steve wants to date him. But seconds turn to a minute and he’s knocked a bunch of times and there’s no answer.

“Stevie, answer the door, I didn’t – I’m an idiot, take me on a fucking date,” He laughs at the door, picturing Steve embarrassed and ignoring the knocks, thinking Bucky was just trying to make amends. The thought makes him laugh ridiculously – make amends for _not wanting to date Steve_. What a hilarious concept. He still doesn’t answer the door though.

“Steve, please, I just blurted out the wrong thing, I’d love to go on a date with you!” He pleads through the door as an elderly woman from upstairs almost bumps into him from where she’d been pattering up the staircase. She grins at him.

“He’ll come round, dear.” She assures and he smiles plastically, shrivelling inside slightly. When she’s disappeared up the next flight he groans and bashes the door again.

“As fun as this whole, ‘begging at the door’ skit is, I’d love to come in, pal.” He goads but there’s not even the sound of movement behind the door. Is Steve really ignoring him? He knows he probably accidentally hurt his feelings but he’s literally yelling at the door that he wants to go on a date – shouldn’t that fix things?

“At least talk to me,” He tries and self-doubt is creeping in. What if Steve thinks he’s a dick, or worse, is just saying he’ll go on a date to not hurt his feelings? But Steve isn’t the type to completely ignore him, this is weird.

“If you want me to go away, then, then just yell at me to get lost but I’ll need to hear you say that.” He says to the wooden door that stares at him and he breathes a sigh of half-relief, half-anxiety when the silence continues.

“Alright, well, let me in.” He pushes but there’s nothing. Then the thought occurs to Bucky that Steve might not actually be in his apartment. Thinking about it, he can’t see the beams from Steve’s hallway light under the door and even though he might just be sitting in the dark, something tells Bucky that Steve isn’t in there. He would’ve broken and at least yelled something by now.

He steps back from the door, running a hand through his hair and tugging the strands as he tries to think what to do. It’s too late for him to have gone to the shop. He’s probably gone to Sam’s or Peggy’s but he doesn’t know where they live. A brief thought to have Nat research where they lives pops up in his head but a voice in the back of his mind yells ‘creepy’ and he doesn’t want to send out any more red flags. Plus, invasions of privacy aren’t cool, he knows that better than anyone. He thinks back to arguing with Clint and deciding to not ask for Steve’s number and resists the stupid urge to punch a wall.

Realistically, he hadn’t needed it, they’d always been two seconds from each other’s front door and always arranged times to meet or just popped over so phones weren’t necessary. Now he felt like complete tool. He had no way to contact Steve and he was leaving for tour in a couple of hours.

“Are you fucking shitting me, Barnes?” Clint yells down the phone and Bucky winces, gazing at his suitcase that’s all packed and ready for him to take to the airport in, he checks his watch, two hours. “You said **no**?!”

“I panicked, I wasn’t thinking properly!” Bucky exclaims back, eyes starting to ache from how long he’s kept them open now.

“We’re going to a different continent, you idiot, you’ll both be stewing for weeks!”

“What do I do?”

“I don’t know I’ve never been asked out by my dream person to then say **no** , you complete fucking **toolbox**!” Clint shouts and Bucky groans in despair.

Natalia is scarcely more forgiving.

“James, you will fix this. I am not listening to you whine for the rest of your natural life, and I am not losing Steve from our group.” She threatens and Bucky only has half an hour until his taxi arrives and he’s checked the hallway enough times to know Steve isn’t coming back tonight. He’s waiting until Bucky’s gone. Great.

“What if I’ve properly fucked this up, Nat? I can’t lose him, I’m too,” And he bites on a desperate sigh and hears something similar down the line from Natalia.

“You won’t. But if you’re serious about dating him, you have to _tell him_.”

“I was going to tell him after tour.” He counters but it’s weak.

“It’s not fair to draw him in and then drop all this on him. It’s selfish, he’s been honest with you, James.”

“Jesus, Nat, you think I don’t know that? You think I’ve not felt like a shitty person everyday about it?” He snaps waspishly and she pointedly stays silent for a minute.

“It’s fixable. So fix it. But for now, get your flight. I’ll see you in Copenhagen.” And she hangs up.

The flight and first few nights go by in a blur. They don’t get to sightsee at all as they go straight to the hotel and then the venue and for safety reasons he’s not allowed to wander the streets of the city which Clint whines about constantly. Bucky knows he’s desperate to distract him from pining about the situation with Steve but it’s useless. It’s all he can think about and chew on.

The first show is a shock to the system as always. The adrenaline high and the sheer numbers in the crowd baffles him. The energy is electric and it only takes half a song for him to tune into the music and the voices screaming back at him with the melodies, losing himself in what really is a dream. Ordinarily, he sings and all he thinks about are the words and the crowd, but he finds himself putting Steve’s mannerisms into the lyrics, winding his smile around the choruses like he’s swirling a drink and then downing it for the heavy drops that Clint tosses at him from behind.

It's intoxicating, being so distracted but at the same time so utterly focused. Having a completely new meaning to songs he wrote, some, years prior is disorienting. Not for the first time, he wishes that Steve could be there, listening, maybe even enjoying the music. But it’ll never happen because Bucky screwed it all up right at the beginning because he couldn’t just give away the feeling of anonymity which Steve would’ve left him with no matter if he knew the truth. He’d gotten so swept up in the attention from someone for Bucky Barnes, grumpy music teacher that he’d forgotten the truth was bound to catch up to him eventually, it was a miracle it hadn’t already.

It gets easier after the first show. He falls into the songs, remembering all of his other shows, when he wrote them, how his words stay strong and unchanged and loved by so many people. And it helps. The cathartic release of singing his feelings at the top of his lungs to tens of thousands of people every night is unlike any wallowing romcom ice cream session he’s ever indulged in. Still, he wants the songs he didn’t write about Steve to be about Steve now. It feels tainted to try and shove him into the words that were written before they met. Like it’s cheapening how Bucky feels because he is using words that don’t understand the gravity of the sensation he feels when Steve grins at him. How could those words make sense now to a feeling he didn’t have then.

He’s somewhat aware that he’s thinking far too deeply on this and that it means something he’s not ready to analyse yet. But he misses Steve like it’s something chronic, or injurious.

“Like a missing limb,” Clint supplies cheekily and Bucky flips him off but does crack a smile because they’ve been away for twelve days and he can’t be miserable all the time.

They’re in Paris now, the fourth stop on their whirlwind tour, two or three shows in every location and then they move on. It’s three days until he gets to go home and sort things out with Steve. With no contact, away from home and all reminders of him, it almost feels like it’s not real, that it never happened. But the persistent, dull ache in Bucky’s chest and the way his heart seems to jolt nervously whenever he thinks about him makes him convinced it’s real.

“Whoever he is, he’s a lucky guy.” Jane says to him in their vocal warm up before the next show and he startles and smiles a little sadly.

“Nah, nothing lucky about it.” He admits quietly and she frowns at him but is sweet enough not to push it.

The thing is, he’s convincing himself that Steve is sitting at home and in the shop and talking himself out of any feelings he may have had for Bucky. Peggy and Sam are probably encouraging him to move on. To take the time apart as an opportunity to do that, to use the separation to rid himself of any lingering affection for Bucky. Maybe even find someone else. The thought actively repels Bucky but it’s a valid thought. A lot can happen in two weeks and Steve is the friendliest guy he’s ever met and meets new people everyday. A lovely stranger might be just the cure to some seemingly unrequited feelings towards a somewhat grouchy school teacher who is conveniently absent and unable to plead his case.

Europe is swallowing him up and everything is so beautiful and architecturally romantic that he can’t help but indulge himself in his tragic stream of thoughts. Nat is constantly busy behind the scenes and Clint’s a puppy on tour, here, there and everywhere, meeting everyone and excited about everything so Bucky doesn’t have much opportunity to moan about it and he doesn’t want to ruin their time by going on about the problem he created. So to channel all of his nervous energy, he writes. Clint always thinks it’s ridiculous that the place he best writes new stuff is on tours to perform the old stuff.

And once he starts, it’s like a tap that he can’t turn off. The songs spill over and out of him and he hates all of them because they’re dainty and unchallenged and none of it counts until Steve knows that any words Bucky writes in a song are about him. He writes them and throws them out all in equal measure and Nat smacks him for it because she reckons they should keep all of his work and salvage the good parts but he refuses. He either likes it or it goes. Seeing as this is his first romantic crisis in years, she goes easy on him. He doesn’t eat or drink anything and rarely sleeps and Clint has this permanently worried look on his face but knows better than to bring it up.

By the time his trip home comes around he’s exhausted. He finished his last show in Paris and went directly to the airport. As much as he wants to be thinking about his situation with Steve, he’s been thinking about it non-stop for a fortnight and now he’s completely drained. Two weeks through a show, Nat always sends him home to recharge so he doesn’t burn out and he is endlessly appreciative of it. He’s not as good at adapting as she and Clint are, he gets homesick to his gut and it affects him, they learnt early on. If he just takes a day or two at home, he is refreshed and can hit it again newly energised. This time is a little different, they all know. Clint even wished him luck before he went and Nat gave him a hug that lasted long enough to know she’s worried about him. He's breaking himself for an audience but he feels like he needs to do it, like there’s no other option.

When he lands he’s not slept for _at least_ over three days and before that he only got drips and drabs of sleep, 3 hours here, 40 minutes there. The flight was agonisingly long and he just couldn’t seem to get comfortable enough to drift off. He doesn’t register the landing, the taxi back to his building, until he’s thrown into the cold bitter November air. His teeth chatter hard enough for it to hurt and when rain starts pouring a small part of him wants to laugh and die because he is so stretched thin he feels a drop of rain could drown him.

He hurries into the building and has to drag himself up the stairs which start to blur and keep seeming too close to his face but he doesn’t think he’s leaning over. It seems to take hours to reach the top, watching his feet shuffle and feeling utterly disconnected from them. It’s as if he’s drunk but dangerously self-aware of it. He leans against Steve’s front door heavily, going through all the scenarios he’s planned in his mind and gazing down the stretch of hallway at his door that feels awfully far away.

He has no capacity to react so when Steve’s door opens, he falls with it and collides into Steve. He doesn’t even look up, just feels a firm grip encircle his elbows and hoist him upright.

“Are you drunk?” Steve sounds _livid_. Bucky groans and shoves himself up properly but Steve hasn’t let go of his arms and he’s holding them tight enough it hurts but Bucky simply cannot open his eyes. And he’s too tired for it to unnerve him as it usually would. It’s as if his body is shutting down under the strain and in hindsight he should have made more of an effort with his sleep schedule than he did.

“No, I can’t sleep, I need.. sleep.” He breathes and tries to force his eyes open and whines a little when they won’t, slumping and letting Steve take his weight. He feels dreadful.

“When did you last sleep, Bucky?” And he spits the name even with the concern in the question, it’s like an accusation and Bucky wants to flinch but can only manage to lean away a little, held firm by Steve’s hands.

“Tuesday?” He offers uselessly and he hears a sharp exhale.

“It’s Saturday, Bucky for fuck’s sake.” Steve growls and Bucky wants to cry. The blood flow to his upper arm is being cut off and his fingers are tingling and he’s not sure his legs work anymore and his head really fucking _hurts_.

“Time difference,” He dismisses and Steve curses angrily under his breath and starts dragging Bucky to his apartment.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says softly.

“Shut up.” Now he might cry.

“I’m so tired.”

“I know.” Steve says and it’s the tiniest bit less snappy but still agitated.

“I really hurt,” Bucky mumbles to himself and then finds himself toppling onto his bed where he instinctively curls up on his side, fully dressed. His stomach chooses that moment to give an almighty roar of protest and he groans, squeezing his eyes shut more.

“When did you last eat?” And Steve is still here. He’s so tired and honestly, he couldn’t remember even if he tried but he knew it was a while. He shrugged as much as he could manage. He hears a huff and Steve stomps away. His heart sinks but he’s in his own bed and it’s all he can do not to cry. He wishes Becca was here. Or Clint and Nat.

“Sit up, you need to eat this.” Comes Steve’s voice, startling Bucky out of his drifting and he mumbles in confusion, his throat dry and scratchy, he coughs violently and is hauled into a sitting position, heavy hands then anchoring him. “Look at me, Bucky.” Steve insists and Bucky has to try. He rips his eyelids open with incredible strength and Steve is sitting on the bed very close and looking at him with an expression of mixed anger and worry. He pushes a cheese sandwich into his hand and Bucky drops his head to it, staring at it numbly.

“Eat it.” Steve snaps and Bucky does flinch now and Steve sighs and mumbles an apology. Bucky forces himself to lift the sandwich, chew and swallow mouthfuls and they remain in silence until he’s done and Steve makes him drink a pint of water. Then he droops against the headboard and every time he blinks it’s like he’s deep underwater and his head spins like he’s got no oxygen when he’s breathing fine.

“You’re a mess, Buck.” Steve says and it’s the least angry he’s sounded so far.

“Yeah,” Is all he can say and he’s proud he managed that. He’s never been so inclined to fall asleep sitting up.

“We need to talk when you’re.. when you’ve slept properly.” Why is Steve’s voice so strained?

“Mm, m’sorry,” He mumbles and hears a sigh turn frustrated moan.

“Don’t apologise, we can’t do this now, you’re not alright.” Steve huffs but he helps gently shift Bucky into a lying position and Bucky keeps a hold on his hand and it isn’t instantly untangled, Steve leaves it there for a few seconds before pulling it away.

“You’re mad.” Bucky makes his eyes open again and Steve looks like a giant towering over him.

“Yeah, I am. But not now, now you sleep, understand?” He instructs and Bucky can only let his eyes slide shut and is out in half a heartbeat.

When he wakes up shards of light are slicing through his retinas directly into his brain because apparently he needs to be punished further for his body’s lack of care. There’s another pint of water left on his bedside table and he all but dives for it, draining the glass and already feeling some sweet relief of the tight knot in his head, it still hurts though. Getting up is disorienting because wasn’t he just in Paris? But wasn’t Steve there? He can remember Steve seemed mad and then everything floods back. All of his plans on how to apologise and if necessary beg Steve to still consider going on a date with him. Just one date.

He stumbles to the door, glancing at his feet and seeing that his boots had been removed for him in the night. It’s odd being in his own bedroom and apartment suddenly and rather than refreshing and comforting as it usually is, he feels like he’s trapped in a bubble and Steve is the only one who can pop it. He doesn’t bother with shoes, just tumbles straight to Steve’s door in his jeans and t-shirt, bed hair and bags under his eyes. Jetlag is worse than flu, he’s convinced. He forgets to plan what he’ll say as he knocks on the door and it swings open almost instantly.

“You fully conscious?” Steve says, barks, like a military order and Bucky responds in kind.

“Yes.”

“Slept enough for a proper conversation?” And it doesn’t sound like what they’ll have is a conversation.

“Yeah, Steve, that’s why I’m here I wanted to apologise,” Bucky rushes out and Steve lets a look of incredulity slip onto his face.

“Oh yeah, what’s that for then?” And it must be a trick question but Bucky soldiers on.

“I didn’t mean to say no that day, I panicked and just said the wrong thing I would love to go on a date with you, if you’ll, if you still want to,” He confesses and Steve’s face contorts into something furious.

“That’s it?”

“Well, I mean, that’s the uh, the big thing.” He stutters, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“The big thing?” Steve exclaims, disbelieving and Bucky’s heart is juddering nervously. “You’ve got some fucking nerve,” Steve mutters and Bucky takes a half step forwards in surprise only to back off at the reception it gets.

“Steve, I don’t understand, what –”

“Even now?” He yells. “Even now you’re lying to me.” He grits out and Bucky is frozen in horror.

“I –”

“How long were you going to keep it going, huh? Some big fucking joke, I’ll bet. Let’s trick the dumbass who lives next door,”

“No, Steve,”

“ **How long**?” He bellows and then bites on his lip and scowls at the floor, seemingly ashamed of his outburst but angry enough not to apologise. Bucky is positive he can hear his heart sinking. He knew Steve would find out. Realistically, somewhere in his brain it had to happen but, not like this and not this soon.

“After,” It comes out cracked and he clears his throat. “After tour, I was going to tell you, I swear, I just,”

“Or, however long you could keep the game up.” Steve accuses and Bucky has his hands raised in surrender or defeat he’s not sure.

“It’s not a game,” He breathes.

“No it’s not!” Steve shouts, a stack of rage in the doorway by now. “This is my life and you’ve toyed with me and made me this, this, well, I hope it was worth it, it worked –”

“Steve, no, don’t say shit like that –”

“You really had me going, I bought the whole thing,” He pauses and they just stare at each other in a shared moment of heartbreak. “The whole thing.” He repeats quietly and Bucky gulps painfully, desperate to find his voice. Nat’s voice in his head saying _fix it fix it fix it_.

“I didn’t mean for it to go this far, really I didn’t,”

“Don’t bother –”

“No, just listen, I got wrapped up in having someone want to spend time with me because, because of me, not because of,” He gesticulates wildly. “All of it, all the bullshit, and you were so separate from it and I couldn’t help myself.”

“You know, that, _that_ , I can understand,” Steve says dangerously. “But it was months, you had _months_ to tell me. You lied about, about little things, about your day, about people, I – I told you everything but it was real for me.” He sounds so betrayed and hurt Bucky wants to be sick.

“It was real for me.” He murmurs.

“No, it wasn’t, Jesus, none of it was! You got your fix of normalcy, I was a bit of stability that you picked up and dropped when is suited. You really think so little of me that you lied to me for that long?” He asks, actually asking, looking scared of the answer. Bucky shakes his head like he was born to do it.

“Of course not, you know that isn’t true,”

“I know jack shit about you,”

“You know everything about me, maybe not my job and what that means but, but you know, you know what music I like, how I eat and think and what makes me laugh, Christ Stevie, I told you everything.” It sparks something and Steve shoves him back, not hard but it didn’t need to be hard to hurt.

“Don’t you **dare** try and spin this.” He spits and his eyes are red and Bucky’s are blurring. “I’ve never felt so… You did that, _I trusted you_ and thought you were this great guy, but I guess he was made up.”

“I guess he is.” Bucky mutters and Steve’s fists clench.

“I can’t, I don’t want to… see you, again.”

“Hold on, please, I know this is fucked up, okay, and it’s my fault and I’m, this always happens, I’m toxic but I’m trying, I swear to God I’m trying and I’ll be better, I’ll _never_ lie to you again, okay? Just, give me another chance, for whatever, whatever I can get, I’ll take it but I, you’re too important to me, Steve.”

“Stop it,” Steve whispers.

“The guy you know is me, he just, he has a different job and his lifestyle is fucked up and he has enough trust issues to lie to the first guy he met in a new apartment because he’s scared of, of all of it and then liked you too much to stop.”

There’s a long silence. Steve is just looking at him, expressionless.

“You’re just some rich, famous jerk who lies and uses people. And I’m just the shmuck who bought the con.” Steve concludes and Bucky sucks in a choking breath at the words that _cut into him_ and tear him to shreds. Steve lets out a burst of something too bitter to be considered laughter. “This was your best _performance_ yet, right.”

“Fuck,” Bucky gasps, begging, pleading, drowning. “I was never myself more than when I was with you. You know me better than anyone.” He gives the last piece of himself out and it crumbles with the door that slams in his face. He doesn’t make it to his apartment door before the tears start burning his throat.

Sliding down in the hallway, gulping in breaths and shoving his fists in his eyes, as if that will help or hurt more and he doesn’t know which way to go. And for what must be hours he just sits, eventually the tears running dry and the exertion of the tour, jetlag and that entire confrontation has left him hollow and raw. A breeze could rattle him to pieces with where he’s at.

He can’t help but think how unfair this entire situation is, how ironic that Steve is one of the only people Bucky can open up to and be himself and Steve doesn’t trust him for being a liar. But all the times he fabricated stories from ‘work’ and students and marking, he got too used to making things up as he went. It was bound to catch up to him but it was so easy to forget that when they were laughing and talking and wasting days just hanging out.

Hearing Steve’s door slam does get him onto his feet but there’s no knock or yell, he’s just left. Standing in his hallway, Bucky feels like everything has broken down. It doesn’t matter that he has friends and a sister and a career, in this moment, his life has just fallen down around him. And what’s worse is that it’s his fault, and he can’t fix it. He could wait and try and confront Steve again but deep down he knows he won’t. He can’t do that to his friend and he’s a coward enough to accept defeat. Also, he’s fairly certain he no longer deserves Steve’s attention after what he’s put the guy through, no matter how much Bucky likes him, he’s done being selfish.

Suitcase, wallet, keys, passport, tickets. He’s catching the next flight to London back to the tour and he’s going to drown himself in music and his audience and try and forget about the best thing he just lost. Just before he leaves he sees the notepad and pen by his apartment’s phone and bites his lip, debating whether it would be a good idea. Then, fuck it. What’s he got to lose with a note at this point?

_I should never have lied to you._

_I won’t ever again._

_I only ever lied about the job, nothing else._

_I’m sorry to put you through all this._

_I hope you know you’re more important than all of this._

_You made this place home, it isn’t home without you._

_I hope you’ll forgive me._

_Bucky_

It’s prosaic and not enough but it’s all he can give without jotting a novel down and who’s to say Steve will even read it. He might just rip it up the moment he sees it. Regardless, Bucky slips it under his door when he leaves.

Funnily enough, whilst he was away, Clint apparently finally asked Nat out. Or rather, he blurted out that he liked her without meaning to and she jumped him. Bucky found out because he has terrible timing and the universe hates him and he’s never sharing a hotel room with Clint **ever again**. Instead, he takes Nat’s room now that she’s all but living in with Clint now. Clint likes to think they’re subtle, Nat doesn’t care what anyone thinks. But Bucky is happy for them and lets them get all the pent up sexual energy out, God knows someone should.

However, without the distraction of a pestering and intense set of friends, he has no choice but to sit and stew on the catastrophic weekend he just flew away from. The apartment that’s still sitting there on a different continent, waiting for him to come back and sit in the same spots he’s cried and broken in. A weak part of himself wants to just move out straight away, a scared part of him wonders if Steve will beat him to the punch. But another part makes him dismiss all of that, he’s not moving out. Despite everything that’s happened, he loves where he lives now and though that was largely thanks to Steve, it doesn’t negate the fact that he built himself a home and a place he felt safe in again and that’s not something to throw away easily. Though he reckons most of the credit should go to Steve, who made him feel more welcome in one day than he’s felt anywhere in years. Since before he lost his parents.

He’s thinking about this when he writes the song.

It’s meant to be stray scribbles of lyrics that have been bouncing around in his brain furiously since the day at Dawn Square Gardens. He’s thinking about Steve and home and that painting and lying together under the stars pretending he wasn’t completely in love with the man inches away from him. And it turns into a song, and he’s humming it all night and Clint emerges from his love nest long enough to demand to hear it. It’s simplistic, more so than their other stuff, just an acoustic guitar and him singing but Clint and Nat are silent by the end of it.

“It’s in the show.” Nat says and Bucky blanches.

“Nat, no, no way it’s just a stupid song,”

“It’s a beautiful song and you need people to hear it.” She says back with a ferocity that takes him off guard.

“Don’t bottle this shit up, man. Sing the song. Just at tonight’s show. Once, yeah?” Clint presses and it’s like now they’re together they’re suddenly super aware that Bucky’s sad and alone and convinced that he needs to confront it.

“What does it matter if I sing the song?”

“What does it matter if you don’t? This feels important, James.”

“What if no one likes it?” He tries and is met with a simultaneous eye roll.

“Play it at the end of the set, it’ll be great.” Clint promises and they leave it at that.

The show goes really well mainly because Bucky is so nervous about the end that all of this anxious energy gets thrown into his performance and the audience is jumping wildly and screaming his words back to him. Clint throws him encouraging grins every time he turns and the atmosphere is intense and heavy, passionate. It seems to flash by and suddenly a guitar is being handed to him and he’s sat alone on stage on a stool with a mic stand in front of him, low enough not to block his face, looking out at thirty thousand people in a London sell out stadium.

“So, thank you all for coming out tonight, I’ve got one more song for you,” There’s an applause which he smiles at gratefully.

“It’s a little slower and it’s for a friend of mine, s’called My Monet, some of you all might be able to relate, I fell for him and, uh, this is my song to, say sorry I guess,” He laughs a little and the crowd starts aww-ing and cheering and he waits before he starts. It’s a delicate tune, strumming gently and humming the melody. He knows he’s a sentimental bastard when he pictures Steve just before he starts singing and feels a wave of calm flood over him.

_I’ll ask you a question_

_I’ll make it quick_

_Do you think it’s your voice or mine_

_Who first crossed the line_

_Made me listless, wistful, painfully blissful,_

_Just no reason or rhyme._

_Little smiles for a while_

_Let’s pass the time_

_You broke my last lie_

_You’re a killer, you’re sublime_

_And I’ll spend my life reliving my crime_

_Let me hear you scream if you need to_

_I’d rip out my lungs if it would make you louder_

_Break my heart on the keys of that piano_

_My song is yours to bleed dry_

_Oh, darling Monet couldn’t capture those eyes_

_Or do justice to that smile but by God he’d try_

_You woke me up from that lonely sleep_

_Blinked one day and I was in too deep_

_I’ve given you some part of me_

_I’ll never try to take it back_

_You’re home to me_

_It’s pure and warm_

_Not mine for long_

_Let me hear you scream if you need to_

_I’d rip out my lungs if it would make you louder_

_Break my heart on the keys of that piano_

_My song is yours to bleed dry_

_Oh, darling Monet couldn’t capture those eyes_

_Or do justice to that smile but by God he’d try_

_By God he’d try_

 

There’s complete silence for a few agonising moments, and Bucky just blinks up at the crowd with a sad smile. Then they erupt. It actually startles him how loud they are and he is gulping in breath to try not to cry, muttering thanks that no one can hear but they might see.

He comes offstage in a daze, his team clapping him on the back, Kate hugs him hard, Jane’s crying and Clint and Nat all but engulf him. He lets them all do it, unsure of if he’s supposed to be saying something or not. He enjoys the hugs, the embraces are surprisingly comforting and he melts into each person’s arms, ignoring the longing for a different pair.

“That was amazing, man.” Clint actually sounds choked up and Bucky stares at him, nodding once, both of them frowning heavily.

“We’re drinking tonight.” Natalia instructs and both men nod, needing a drink.

Nat starts them off in the hotel room, skipping the bar in favour of some privacy, with three shots of vodka each, just to get a healthy buzz going. She grabs a bottle of tequila from the hotel fridge and shoves it at Bucky.

“напиток.” She orders and Bucky obeys, taking a swig and grimacing at the taste before handing it to Clint to do the same thing.

“Can we not play ‘who’s in the Russian club’ please?” Clint says around a wince and clears his throat, passing the bottle back to Natalia who takes a swig or rather a glug and her face doesn’t change. The bottle goes around twice again and back to Nat, starting to make the edges of everything nice and soft, blurry enough to relax Bucky.

“How did you write that song, James?” Natalia says, not beating around the bush, as ever. He takes the bottle of her gratefully, another large gulp burning down his throat but a healthy warmth settling in his gut now.

“Heartbreak sounds pretty, I guess.” He says and Clint snorts loudly. Nat raises an eyebrow at him, swinging her legs onto his lap and he grins at her. Bucky does distantly register feeling happy for them and getting slightly uncomfortable that he’s losing his two best friends. Which is a selfish thought and makes him feel sick with himself.

“So, there’s no chance then?” Clint pushes and Bucky just sighs, twisting the bottle in his hands.

“I know a lost cause when I hear one.” Nat says, eyeing Bucky apologetically. Clint snags the bottle from Bucky’s loose grip and takes two large glugs.

“S’a real nice song, though,” He slurs and Nat starts laughing. Clint joins in, ugly snorting and choking on his own laughter which makes Nat laugh harder. And Bucky can’t resist, he starts laughing, harder and harder until they’re all wheezing and Clint is nearly purple. They take pity on him eventually, slapping him on the back until his airways finally clear and Nat confiscates the bottle from him.

They fall asleep all draped over each other, arms and limbs tangled up together and Bucky does feel remarkably happy and safe in the embrace of his best friends. He dreams of the starry night and laying on the blanket next to Steve, leaning over and just kissing him for hours. It’s the best dream he’s had in weeks, so calm and completely perfect. And Steve is so Steve, his eyes and face feel realistic and it’s not unfocused like most dreams, it feels sharper and slower, how he’d always imagined he would take his time to enjoy it if he ever got to kiss Steve. If he’d ever plucked up the courage when he’d had the chance.

He wakes up to hearing Natalia chattering away in a language he doesn’t recognise and then she suddenly switches to English.

“Two million?” She exclaims and Bucky winces in time to a beautiful groan from Clint somewhere to his left. She quickly hangs up and comes over to them both, kicking them both harshly so their legs are shoved into each other’s. Bucky’s head is pounding in his head and he huffs in frustration.

“Up, both of you, up, now!” She hurries them, tugging Bucky upright and a wave of nausea makes him want to retch but he breathes through it. Clint is actively protesting movement and Nat is merciless in her onslaught.

“Nat, can this wait?” Bucky groans and the shove she gives him answers her question so he attempts to pull himself together.

“You need to see this,” She shoves a laptop under his nose and Clint’s head lands on his shoulder, apparently all the effort he can muster.

The screen is on a video and he blinks to attention.

“Hey, tha’s you, Buck.” Clint mumbles, and it is. From last night, it’s his song about Steve.

“Why am I watching this, Nat?” Bucky asks, confused.

“Look at the hits,” She prompts, watching him with folded arms and a perfect poker face. He scrolls down and his eyes widen. The video has over two and a half million views and it’s titled ‘Heartbreaking Love Song by James Barnes to Mystery Unrequited’.

“This is, what the fuck,” He starts scrolling through comments and there are thousands all wishing to help, saying he could do better, saying they’d fix his broken heart. He pushes the laptop away.

“This is just one, it’s gone viral. Facebook, Tumblr, Twitter, you’ve even made national news.”

“National,” He stares at her and Clint has sat up and is tapping away on the laptop. “Why the hell has it gone viral, it’s just a song. I… I only sang it yesterday, I mean,” He trails off and Nat twists her mouth a straight line, shrugging.

“It was one hell of a song, James.”

“You’re literally all over the internet, there’s already a bunch of people covering the song, a couple of music videos and, shit,” He lets out a shocked breathy laugh.

“What, what is it?” Bucky asks anxiously, too nervous to grab the laptop away from him.

“It’s trending.”

“What is?”

“Hashtag ‘find My Monet 2016’, and ‘If Barnes sang to me’, there’s so many tweets, holy shit.” Clint laughs again and Bucky is living his nightmare.

If Steve sees this he’ll be mortified. He’ll feel as if Bucky’s exploited everything that’s happened, used him and then made a profit and used him for more fame. This is the last thing he wanted to happen, he thought it would be a one off and it’d be forgotten.

“Why does everyone have to film everything, shit, he’s gonna’ think, oh God, what is he gonna’ think?”

“James, calm down, he might not have seen it.” She says and he levels her with a hard look, his headache building.

“It’s on the fucking news, Nat, even he couldn’t miss this, he’s not _that_ disconnected.” He snaps and Clint kicks him. “Sorry… sorry, Nat.” She waves him away.

“This might sound harsh,” She braces him with a little smile and it’s a little funny that she’s bracing him for something. “But, does it really matter? No one knows it’s him and you’ve already lost him by the sounds of it so I can’t see this affecting anything at this point.” Bucky’s heart clenches at her choice of words and Clint winces for him.

“That was fucking harsh, Nat,” Clint says with an apologetic chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. She comes and sits next to Bucky, resting her head on his other shoulder and he shuts the laptop.

“I should never have sang that stupid song.” He mutters.

“It’s no point saying that, you needed to do that.”

“Maybe,” He allows but all he can see is Steve’s face in the doorway when he called him a liar, still feel the hollow in his chest. “Do we carry on with the tour?” He asks quietly and Nat takes his hand.

“Of course. Just a few more shows and then we can go home, you can hide out until this all dies down.” She says firmly enough that he just trusts her word, nodding. Clint is nodding too from his other shoulder.

“Sorry about all of this guys.” He mumbles and they elbow him in unison.

“Your drama keeps things interesting.” Clint says and Nat huffs a little laugh.

The next show is chaos, people screaming for Monet Man, they don’t stay quiet between songs. Clint even looks a little worried and it sets Bucky’s nerves off. Nat signals to end the show early and there’s all but riots for him to play the new song. The next shows are similar in the audience’s enthusiasm, borderline outrage that the new song isn’t played. In the last shows there are signs that read ‘Monet Man’ and the chanting is endless.

It’s the first time Bucky’s been glad for a tour to end. Nat’s been an angel, keeping the press and fans at bay, covering his bases, keeping him tucked away from the stress, letting him and Clint sit around and play video games rather than face the masses. She even lets him skip the interviews and catch an early flight back.

He spends the entire flight with a cap pulled down low, hunched and trying to keep as quiet and inconspicuous as possible. He stares at clouds for hours, it feels like he doesn’t blink as music he’s not listening to plays in his ears for the entire trip. He feels a strange sense of déjà vu as he’s all of a sudden kicked out of a taxi and the air is biting. He remembers they’ve reached December and wonders where the month disappeared to. He stares up at his building and decides he can’t do it. He grabs another taxi as fast as he can and goes straight to Clint’s.

“Sorry about this,” He mumbles when Clint’s door opens to him. Clint smiles and pulls him inside where a worryingly dirty looking golden retriever bounds up to him and starts licking his ankles.

“Hey Lucky,” Bucky smiles warmly, petting the dog despite his worrying appearance.

“That’s not his name.” Clint moans as he tugs Bucky’s suitcase inside and dumps it.

“There’s nothing more fitting, this dog by all rights should have died in this hellhole,”

“This hellhole where I’m letting you hide out.” Clint reminds him, shooing the dog away and dodging the broken floorboards. “I’m ordering pizza, you want one?” He yells behind him and Bucky laughs.

“Yeah, sure, just get me a cheese one.” He calls and hears a laugh.

“You basic bitch.” Is the reply and Bucky actually laughs, despite how exhausted and rough he feels, he’s relaxed knowing he can stay here for as long as he needs. He bobs and weaves around low hanging lights and questionable puddles and dips in the floor which it’s easier not to ask about.

“The Office or Parks and Rec? I’m feeling funny and bitesize that we can marathon.” Clint says when Bucky makes it to the living room.

“Clint, what the hell is that?” He points to the actually hole in the floor like out of a cartoon.

“Don’t worry about that,” He dismisses.

“Your dog will fall in!”

“Course he won’t, I trained him not to.” Clint says proudly.

“You could’ve just got the hole fixed!” He argues, slumping onto the sofa and freezing when he hears something ooze.

“Don’t ask,” Clint says before Bucky can even say anything. “So, decision?”

“Parks and Rec.”

“Cool, but I’m starting from season 2.”

And they watch two episodes before the doorbell goes.

“Pizza,”

“Shut up Andy’s on!” Clint shoves him and Bucky laughs and shoves him back.

“Just because he’s basically you!”

“I paid, you get the pizza,” He reasons.

“I might not make it back alive,” Bucky pouts.

“The risks we take for pizza,” His friend mumbles, already tuning back into the programme and Bucky huffs and gets up. It takes him long enough to get to the door safely that he’s surprised anyone will still be at the door when he opens it.

When he does open it his heart leaps into his throat.

Steve is standing at the door, fidgeting with his sleeves. He drops it when he catches sight of Bucky who is just standing silently, waiting for the yelling or maybe even the punch. He’d hope he could hide at Clint’s until everything cooled down – of course he’s not that lucky.

“Peggy has Nat’s number, Nat said you’d be here.” Steve says without prompt and Bucky frowns a little and nods. Properly looking, he sees that Steve looks tired and stressed, his eyes are red-rimmed and his lips are all bitten and chewed up and it is ferociously distracting.

“Can we talk?” And that’s not what Bucky was expecting at all. It takes him a moment to recognise what Steve’s asking.

“Yeah, yeah of course.” He says quietly, stepping out and closing the door rather than risking Clint’s death trap apartment.

This hallway is solely for Clint so it is silent and uncomfortably awkward. Steve clears his throat but doesn’t speak still for a little while and Bucky feels so nervous it’s a sickly feeling to his gut but he refuses to speak first.

“When did you get back?” Steve asks and Bucky watches for any sign he’s furious but he looks just as nervous as Bucky feels.

“Not long ago,” He croaks, voice rusty.

“You.. didn’t come back to ours, the building, our building, I mean,” Steve says and he looks upset which is confusing and maybe Bucky’s jetlag is affecting him more than he knows.

“You said you didn’t wanna’ see me, so,” He shrugs ever-so-slightly, keeping eye contact but Steve’s eyes drop and he nods, looking even more upset. Bucky wants to swipe his hand over his furrowed brow and smooth it out, calm him down.

“I, okay, can I just talk at you for a minute?” Steve blurts out louder than necessary and squeezes his eyes shut briefly.

“Sure,” Bucky agrees, bracing himself for the very worst. He’s not sure he can go through this again. Having Steve here in front of him again, reminding him what he wants and can’t have is near enough torture. Steve takes a deep breath and is looking at Bucky with an intensity that he doesn’t know what to do with except probably fantasise about later.

“Okay. You.. I need to know, the, uh, was that song..”

“About you?” Bucky fills in and Steve nods, looking unbearably anxious and Bucky doesn’t know what answer he’s hoping for. “Yeah,” He answers simply. Steve gulps, hard and nods in an odd jerking fashion.

“So, you, okay. And do you really feel like that, you said, I mean, Christ, Buck,” He chokes a little and Bucky is desperately quashing any glimmers of hope that want to make themselves known. He **can’t** do this again. He just needs to answer the questions and hope they can part without Steve hating him and with him knowing the truth.

“I meant all of it.”

“It was on the news.” He says a little incredulously.

“Yeah.. sorry about that, I just, it was just a song I wanted to sing I didn’t think people would,” He makes a face to indicate the media shitstorm and Steve nods, understanding.

“I was still mad, okay?” Steve says, seemingly needing Bucky to recognise this and he nods quickly, unsure where it’s going. “I was still mad, but, I saw that video and, and you sang that song and I knew, really, it had to be about me but I couldn’t really believe it. And you looked so fucking, I just wanted to talk to you straight away but I had to wait and I was so confused about whether I should be angry or whether I should, forgive you,” He watches Bucky’s head raise slowly at that.

“I know you lied but, I watched that song and I just couldn’t see a lie in it. Which, you know, scared the shit out of me,” He coughs out a sharp laugh and Bucky smiles weakly.

“I, you gotta’ tell me what this is because I’m in the dark here. I don’t really know what’s real and what’s, the rest.” He words it carefully and Bucky’s pulse is spiking a little now because Steve’s taking this somewhere that sounds distinctly hopeful.  Bucky nods but he can’t speak yet, not until he knows exactly what Steve is asking. The other man seems to realise.

“I said some really shitty things to you before,”

“Steve,”

“No, I did, it was so fucked up, I, I didn’t try and see things from your side and seeing how things blow up so quickly like this, I can see why you would want to get a break from that. And we got on so well, I, I guess I can understand why it would be difficult to see how to tell me everything.”

More silence. He’s not got to the point yet and they both know it.

“And when I stopped being so angry, I started thinking about _why_ I was so angry. And it’s so obvious now I feel like an idiot that I didn’t figure it out sooner but, well,” He huffs a laugh and steps into Bucky’s personal space, slowly, deliberately, leaving Bucky plenty of room and space to back out if he wants to.

“I was scared that the guy I fell in love with wasn’t real,” He says with a warm, shaky smile and Bucky isn’t breathing properly.

“Me too.”

“I, uh, I know better now though.” Steve mutters softly and his hand lifts and ever so carefully traces from Bucky’s shoulder, past his collarbone, making him shiver, and up to rest on the curve of his jaw.

“Tell me what’s real.” Steve all but begs, breath dusting Bucky’s lips and he’s drunk on the proximity already, Steve’s warm hand is heaven on his face.

“I fell in love with you when you laughed at me in the hallway,” He admits and Steve’s eyes flicker to his lips, and he seems to be holding his breath too. “Nothing’s changed, it’s just.. more, now.”

“More?” Steve breathes far too close.

“I’m only gonna’ fall more, Stevie, what do you expect?” Bucky cracks a smile and Steve crashed their lips together in a searing kiss.

Bucky’s mind actually whites out when their lips meet, the feeling jolting his entire body. He then wastes no time, Steve is being gentle and passionate but Bucky is craving far more. He wraps his arms around Steve’s neck and shoulders, tangling his fingers in his hair and pulling, crushing the two of them closer and Steve groans hot and heavy. He reacts in kind, walking them backwards until Bucky’s back hits the door and suddenly he’s pressed flush against the other man, kissing him without taking time to breathe.

“No idea how long I’ve wanted,” Steve pants between kisses and Bucky distracts him by tracing his lips with his tongue, revelling in the breathy gasp that allows him to explore properly. He groans and uses both hands to cup Bucky’s face, kissing him again and again and again.

“Steve,” Bucky gasps in between a kiss but gets not response and loses his train of thought due to Steve’s talented tongue and the long line of his body.

“Steve, hey,” He gently pushes him back and Steve takes the opportunity to kiss down his jaw and start mouthing below his ear, pressing and sucking kisses onto his neck and drawing out long moans.

“Not here, we are not doing this outside Clint’s apartment.” He whines and Steve chuckles into his neck.

“You wanna’ go home?” He mumbles against Bucky’s collar bone, licking a stripe there and his voice vibrating makes Bucky shudder, overwhelmed.

“Yeah, right now, right now.” He begs, tugging on Steve’s hair and scratching down his back, feeling desperate.

“Don’t know if I’ll make the ride home without my hands on you,”

“Fuck,”

“Yeah,” Steve grins up at him cheekily and Bucky laughs, amazed.

“You’re sure about this?” He asks and Steve rises to his eye level, taking a second to just look at him before smiling.

“I’m sure about you.” He says and Bucky’s smile hurts it’s so wide.

They pay the driver extra to speed home and the guy leers at them a little and actually does step on it. They barely stumble into Steve’s apartment before clothes are off and they’re collapsing onto the bed. Bucky’s fairly sure his mantra of _SteveSteveSteveSteve_ all night will be his regular as it felt amazing and drove Steve _wild_.

The next morning is some miracle that Bucky can’t fathom, waking up and being able to lean over and press kisses all over Steve’s face, kissing the smile that appears as he wakes up. Lounging in bed and laughing and talking and kissing and kissing and more. They only leave the bed when their stomachs absolutely demand it and even then it’s only half dressed trips to the kitchen, so distracted by each other that it’s a surprise they don’t burn the apartment down.

After that, they spend every night together, swapping between apartments until Steve eventually moves his things in. Clint and Nat are insufferable in their teasing and constantly dropping by to check up on them and bring them snacks and condoms.

“Why are you acting like weird uncles, you’re supposed to be all loved up too, remember?” Bucky snarks when they barge in on them one day just as the evening was getting particularly good and Steve smirks, pressing a kiss into his hair as he disentangles himself from his boyfriend and gets up to make their unwanted guests drinks, because he’s an old man.

When Steve’s friend Sam finally manages to come over and meet his new boyfriend and finds out Steve is dating _James Barnes_ and knows _Clint Barton_ he berates his friend endlessly.

“You were living next door to a huge celebrity and you had _no idea_?!”

When Christmas rolls around, Bucky has been neglecting the band a little in favour of his domestic bliss and Steve is moaning at him to get back into it. He starts to notice that Bucky is reluctant and evasive, avoiding talking about it and corners him one day when they’re laying in bed.

“Come on, what’s this about?” He gently pins his boyfriend to the bed and brackets his head with strong arms. He can’t get eye contact as Bucky chews on his lip and shrugs in discomfort, torn between whether to say what’s bothering him or if it’ll cause some upset. “Buck,” Steve moans unhappily and presses a kiss to his lips, lingering and coaxing and it’s impossible to ignore that kind of persuasion.

“That’s not fair.” Bucky pouts and Steve smiles at him, waiting. He sighs and swallows his nerves. “When this all comes out, everyone’s gonna’ know. People will bother us, they’ll say things about us, probably make shit up. It could make shit difficult for you.”

“Okay,” Steve draws the word out, waiting for something important apparently.

“Won’t you hate that? Am I... will it be worth it, I mean?” He asks the question he’s been avoiding and Steve frowns angrily at him.

“You’re a complete jerk, you know that?”

“What?”

“You think I’m bailing the second things get tough, like we didn’t already get all our drama out the way early?” Steve traces his lips along Bucky’s cheekbone and he sighs happily.

“I don’t want to make this hard for you, that’s all.” He explains softly and Steve smiles down at him, pressing his hips down to meet Bucky’s, relishing the friction and the choked moan it earns him.

“It’s way too late for that,” Steve chuckles and Bucky glares, mock-annoyed at him.

“You’re a punk.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve mutters and dips down to capture his lips and tease gasps and groans from them. “I love you.” He mutters and Bucky’s lips can’t focus on kissing when they’re trying to smile.

“I love you too, kiss me more.” He orders and Steve’s ‘mmhm’ is drowned when Bucky flips them, greedily stealing his attention away. They don’t leave the bed for the rest of the day. 

**Author's Note:**

> really hope you liked this - helped me stay sane through my first week back at 2nd year  
> it's way longer than i thought it would be ((this was going to be 5k haha who am i??))  
> updates on other fic soon, i am a distracted child, okay, please comment, thanks for reading!! b x


End file.
